The Weight of Distance
We walk until the air grows thin. It is not the destination that demands our breath, but the silence between two people who have stopped speaking. There is a specific gravity to the mountains. They do not care for our presence, nor do they…
The Salt in the Air
There is a specific weight to the air when the tide begins to turn, a heavy, humid stillness that feels like the world is holding its breath. In the north, we are used to light that retreats, light that pulls away from the skin and leaves us…
The Geometry of Passing Through
I often find myself standing at the mouth of the underpass near the Vistula, watching how the city swallows the light and spits it out in jagged, rhythmic bars against the concrete. There is a particular silence that lives in these transition…