The Salt of Quiet Devotion
The smell of damp earth after a long drought is the closest I have ever come to understanding prayer. It is a heavy, metallic scent that clings to the back of the throat, a reminder that the ground is always waiting to be softened. I remember…
The Weight of Looking
We spend our lives looking away. We look at the ground, at our hands, at the clock on the wall. To look directly at another is a risk. It is an admission that we are here, and that we are seen. In the north, the winter light is thin and grey,…
The Map of Our Years
Dear traveler, I have been thinking about the way we try to hide our history. We treat our skin like a secret, smoothing it over, pretending that the sun and the wind and the long, hard winters haven't left their marks. But look at how a tree…