There is a rhythm to the fire that has nothing to do with time. It is a slow, circular labor. The hands move, the grain shifts, and the heat does its work in silence. We often forget that the things we consume—the warmth, the sustenance, the small comforts of a morning—are born from this kind […]

The smell of damp earth and thick, coarse hair always brings me back to the feeling of a heavy palm resting against my shoulder. It is a dry, sandpaper heat—the kind that settles into your skin after a long day under a relentless sun. There is a specific rhythm to being near something massive, a […]