Reflections

November 24, 2024

I keep a small, silver thimble in my sewing kit that belonged to my grandmother, its surface pitted with tiny, rhythmic indentations...

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November 24, 2024

There is a specific, heavy silence that belongs only to the hours before the world fully wakes. It is not an empty...

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November 24, 2024

When a river carves its way through a limestone bed, it does not negotiate with the stone; it simply persists, following the...

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