The Alchemy of Dust
My grandmother used to say that you can tell a person’s character by how they treat a handful of flour. She would stand in her kitchen in Leeds, her hands coated in a fine, white powder that made her look like she had been caught in a sudden…
The Weight of the Ascent
The mountains do not care for our promises. They have stood in the thin air long before we arrived, and they will remain long after our breath has failed. We climb because we need to believe that height changes something in us. We carry our…
The Weight of the Unsold
There is a specific silence that lives in the things we carry but cannot give away. I remember the wooden box my father kept on his desk, filled with brass keys that opened doors to houses long since demolished. Each key was a promise of entry…