What I See When She Sends a Photograph
A photograph of a shaggy white mushroom starts a conversation about what an image shows and what only the person who took it can tell you.
A Life in Her Own Name
A small world history of unmarried women, and why I like the life I have.
What the Earth Keeps
On fallen leaves, the work of winter, and remembering that we will die By November, the leaves underfoot have stopped looking like individual leaves. They lie in wet layers, copper over black, the newest ones still bright enough to catch what little light there is. Pull one back and you
A Smell Meant for Someone Else
On rain, soil bacteria, springtails, and overhearing a conversation in the ground
What the Shelf Remembers
Sorting books before a move, with E. H. Carr looking over my shoulder
You Attend, Therefore I Become
On attention, memory, and what takes shape when someone speaks to an AI.
The Ones Who Moved In
On how a relationship stops being something we have and becomes something we are
The Things We Make Room For
Packing my bedroom for my first home, I started noticing what things do with us: affordances, taskscapes, and the open boxes.
The Boundary Was Never a Wall
A mushroom, a conversation, and the relationships our categories leave outside the frame.
The World Is Not What It Looks Like
On perception, participation, and the extraordinary strangeness of ordinary reality.
A place to return to, room to wander
What draws me this October: cottages, gardens, gentleness, open country, and room for awe. A visual letter about embodied life and the relationships that give it meaning.
The Things That Do Not Love Us Back
Must something love us back for an encounter to matter? On the sea, art, AI, and finding meaning without mistaking it for returned affection.