The Weight of the Harvest
The kitchen table in my grandmother’s house always held a bowl of fruit, but it is the specific absence of the summer of 1994 that haunts me now. That was the year the garden failed, the year the vines withered before the berries could ripen,…
The Weight of Watching
I have been thinking about what it means to be a witness. We spend so much of our lives rushing past the things that are actually happening, our eyes skimming over the surface of the world as if it were a map we already know by heart. But there…
The Weight of the Path
I have always been suspicious of the way we try to tame the wild. We build walkways, platforms, and railings, convincing ourselves that we are engaging with nature while we are really just insulating ourselves from it. My first instinct was…