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In Gandum Village, Portugal, a group of people came together to learn how to regenerate the systems we work in. Outside in the yard, an olive tree was doing the same work. Not far away, an ancient olive tree has been doing it for 3,712 years.
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I am eleven years old when I first feel the sense of freedom that comes from the rhythm of techno moving through my body. It is a vivid memory, and yet an imaginary one. I remember the darkness after the sun had set, fairy lights strung from the wooden bar
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A dandelion, a camera, and the motion inside stillness.
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When we booked our trip to Ascona, I knew I would write about it. I just didn't expect it to turn out as it did.
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We keep asking if we have lost humanity, as if humanity were something inherently good.
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I was hoping for spring. Instead, winter returned. Whether I walked in snow or in the sky, it was hard to tell. At a bus stop, I wonder what—or who—we are waiting for. The river does not ask. It keeps moving. It knows its direction. So much noise.
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On temporary places and the thoughts they generate
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Last time I wrote about plants. This time, about a milk foamer.
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Our Sansevieria has long green-yellow leaves that tower into the air. Nested in her terracotta pot, she sits in stillness, yet her presence brings life to the room. Her leaves used to be firm and unbending, as if she knew who she was. Slowly over time, almost unnoticed, her
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As you start to walk on the way, the way appears. - Rumi
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Winter has its own rhythm. A season of rest, of not knowing, of staying. I am learning to host uncertainty instead of controlling it.
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On welcome, loss, and hope. Another island has found its way into my heart.