writings

These are my short writings—1×1×Mark and Orphaned Heirlooms. They aren't planned. They arrive. And the way a story comes is often a story itself.

Many of them come at the Cypress Patch on the Stornetta Bluffs—where the trodden path moves through the pasture and then opens toward the ocean, as if those trees are the grand entrance. There's life there. Age. History. Strength and weakness holding hands in the same wind.

I've learned that some of the best stories—maybe most stories—don't come when we chase them. They come in the silence of a threshold, somewhere between something and something.

Because making it right isn't perfecting it.
Making it right is hearing it—and telling it.