Freshly Made Biscotti, by Rabih MadiThe Warmth of Small Things
Dear reader, I have been thinking about the way we measure the passage of time. We often look for it in the grand shifts—the changing of seasons, the graying of hair, the turning of a decade. But I think time is actually kept in the quiet,…
The Weight of Water
The river does not hurry, yet it arrives. We spend our lives trying to hold the water in our cupped hands, forgetting that to hold it is to stop it. To stop it is to lose the very thing we sought to keep. There is a particular ache in watching…
A Newfound Village by Shikchit KhanalThe Quiet Between Peaks
I took a wrong turn while driving to the grocery store this morning. Usually, I would have been annoyed, checking my watch and cursing the GPS for its lack of clarity. But the road wound up a hill I had never climbed before, and suddenly, the…