The Weight of the Ascent
The mountain does not care if you are there. It has stood through winters that erased the memory of men, and it will stand long after the last boot print has been scoured away by the wind. We climb because we need to measure ourselves against…
The Geometry of Waiting
In the journals of early naturalists, one often finds sketches of birds perched upon fence posts, their bodies rendered as simple, static triangles against the vastness of a field. There is a peculiar stillness to these creatures, a suspension…
The Cartography of Skin
We often speak of time as a river, something that flows past us, carrying away the debris of our days. But perhaps it is more accurate to think of time as a sculptor. It does not flow; it presses. It settles into the corners of the mouth and…