Majestic Mountains
Sometimes I wonder if there is more to it, more beyond; or maybe it is just this that I have now and have to conform with it. However, I really can get enough. I have to keep trying to reach the limit; but really! Is there a limit? I want to believe there isn't, that way I can keep trying and reaching for more and more, and be like the bird that flies high in the sky and travel the world.
The Rhythm of the River
When I was seven, my uncle took me to the docks to watch the men unload crates of mangoes. I remember the sound most of all—not a single noise, but a thousand small collisions of wood against wood, boots against wet planks, and the rhythmic,…
The Man Who Walked through the Wall by Mirka KrivankovaThe Weight of Stone
I keep a small, rusted skeleton key in a velvet pouch, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, cold against the palm, a dense little anchor of iron that suggests a threshold I can no longer cross.…