Carillon
Were the temperature to rise by even two degrees, the sky would instead be pressing the precise part of me that finds it difficult to get out of bed. It would be the devil saying, see? It’s better when you leave the door closed. But the snow has something different to say. It whispers: oh, wonder.
How to Cry in the Mountains
You scatter pieces of your confidence over the slopes, tucking them between trees and underneath the pillowy white powder. Everything you’ve worked so hard to believe about yourself is flaking off and settling on the side of the mountain.
Away We Stay: Always Wanted To
It’s the ghost of my past self every time I hear someone say they’ve wanted to do that because I agree. It took a momentous global event and drastic change in circumstance and still, there are hundreds of places our trips could died in the water. The idea could have sunk to the bottom of the lake that holds all my regrets in cold stasis.
Away We Stay: Bathymetry
What does knowing the depths actually tell us? Would a map of the curves of my own soul, including the shallows and the dark bits, help me navigate the surface with any more grace? Would the cartographic process bring me to an understanding?