Meditations on transience
The driftwood lay half-buried in wet sand, its pale, salt-bleached form curving like a question mark against the shore. Once, it had been part of something purposeful—a str...
Thoughts at dusk
She stands at the edge where land meets sea, a solitary figure against the vast gray horizon. The wind whips her coat around her legs and tugs at her hair, but she hardly notices. H...