Hiraeth

Hiraeth

My blood knows where it belongs, as if it were a thread drawn from an older loom and left, for a long while, to wander—still tethered, still remembering the hand that first measured it. It knows ancestral land. It knows the weight of it. And when that knowing stirs,...
One Waits

One Waits

In the winter mornings, when the sun rises low and strikes the glass of the windowpane, a faint mist gathers along the outer edges. It does not settle evenly. It draws inward, leaving the center clear while the margins cloud and pale. For a brief moment, caught...
Time to Ponder

Time to Ponder

There are those who seat themselves in thought and call it wisdom. They linger long in reflection, weighing and reweighing, until pondering becomes a posture they defend rather than a passage they were meant to cross. Their hands grow still, not from weariness, but...
Wisdom

Wisdom

Wisdom is not quick to announce herself. More often, she waits. She abides in stillness, and in that stillness she is not idle. There are times when victory is not seized or proclaimed, but given quietly, carried on the back of silence and received only by those who...
Presence

Presence

I have been wondering whether we should recover a more traditional form of invitation when we meet—words from the past, such as your presence is requested, or even required. The phrase feels heavy now, almost foreign, yet it exposes our present condition: present has...
Waiting

Waiting

I sat waiting—wondering, weighing the path ahead. From somewhere beneath thought, a notion surfaced—not abruptly, but slowly, like a bubble rising from depth, gathering shape as it climbed, until it broke the surface and was gone. And I wondered if this, too, was...