The Weight of the Crossing
I keep a small, rusted key in my desk drawer that no longer fits any lock I own. It is heavy for its size, cold to the touch, and carries the faint, metallic scent of a house that was sold long before I was ready to leave it. We spend so much…
The Weight of a Single Page
Seneca once reminded his friend Lucilius that we are often more occupied with the trivialities of the day than with the cultivation of the soul. He argued that time is not something we possess in abundance, but something we spend with reckless…
The Weight of Salt
The sea is not far. It is in the skin. It is in the way the morning air tastes of cold water and iron. We gather what the tide leaves behind, believing we are the masters of the harvest. We slice. We season. We arrange the bounty on the wooden…