The Weight of the Sky
I remember sitting on a porch in County Clare, watching the horizon turn the colour of a bruised plum. My grandfather didn’t look up from his tea, even as the air grew heavy and the birds went quiet. He just said, 'The sky is deciding.' That’s…
The Weight of the Horizon
There is a specific silence that follows the closing of a door. It is not the silence of an empty room, but the silence of a room that has just been vacated, where the air still holds the temperature of a body that is no longer there. I think…
The Weight of a Whisper
I remember sitting on a mossy stone wall in the Lake District, waiting for a wren that never showed. My knees were aching, and the damp was beginning to seep through my trousers. I had spent an hour trying to be invisible, holding my breath…