There was once a tailor who lived on the edge of a city that was always on fire.
Not literal — but as if people were running from flames day and night: in the racing footsteps, the wild, panicked eyes over market stalls, the fevered cacophony of deals struck in haste.
The people lived fast, spent fast, aged fast.
And whoever slowed down was swept away like ashes. (more…)
Long ago—or perhaps only yesterday—a sorrowful soul had sealed himself inside a cave. At least that was the story. Some claimed he had been wronged, exiled unjustly. Others whispered that he had chosen his own exile, unable to bear what he had done, or failed to do. Over time, the tale became a warning: enter not the hollow where despair keeps watch. (more…)
A young woman tried to write a letter to her dying father.
She meant to say everything. (more…)
Author’s note: I’m writing this story for my 90-year-old mother. Her descent into dementia is quickening. She understands what’s happening to her, and of course it terrifies her. This story is my attempt to share with her a way to embrace the inevitability of her Path with a little more hope and a little less fear. (more…)
It had always been the same. Every December, as the first snows settled over the hills and the days grew short, Emilia would light the little lantern and set it in the window of the old stone cottage. She did it without fail, as her mother had done, and her grandmother before her.
“Why do we light it, Grandma?” she had once asked as a child, her voice soft with wonder.
“To guide the way,” her grandmother had answered. “For those who are lost or alone, for those who are waiting, and for those who don’t yet know they’re searching.” (more…)