The Weight of the Passing
Seneca once reminded his friend that we are all merely passing through, like travelers who stop at an inn and then move on. He argued that we spend our lives preparing to live, rather than living, distracted by the pursuit of things that do…
The Weight of Small Things
There is a specific weight to a living thing held against the chest, a pressure that reminds you exactly where your own body ends and another begins. I remember the way a stray cat used to settle into the crook of my arm, its heartbeat a frantic,…
The Cold Edge of Knowing
The smell of rain on hot pavement always brings me back to the hallway of my childhood home. There was a tall, silver-backed glass that hung by the door, its surface cool enough to steal the heat from your fingertips if you pressed them against…