At the River’s Bend
Dusk leans against the bank and the water forgets its hurry. A heron fixes the world with one unblinking bead of light. Across the far reeds, someone counts under their breath—not numbers, exactly, but commas between breaths, like a rosary of pauses. A boy skims a stone and the circle widens, then loosens, then disappears into small attentions.
I watch the river practise memory. It keeps what is heavy, lets go what is bright. The cicadas begin as if re-threading a broken necklace. A fisherman touches the hull of his boat with a hand that knows the grammar of wood. He waits. We all do.
I walked home with wet cuffs and an old thought: perhaps art is learning where to place the pause. Not the note, not the image—but the hush that allows them to be heard.
Also in Library
The Weight of Light
In the hush before dawn, light gathers until waiting becomes prayer.
Long exposure teaches surrender — to breathe with time, to let the unseen complete the image.
What remains on film is not possession, but trust made visible.
The Silence Between Temples
Between one breath and the next, the world holds its pulse in silence.
Here, between temples, devotion hums without voice—light becoming memory, memory becoming air.
Step softly into the space where sound has already bowed,
and feel the sacred linger in what remains unspoken.
Hands of the Sculptor — The Craft as Meditation
In the hush of the galleries, the sculptor listens rather than strikes.
Each breath, each measured blow, opens silence a little further.
Unfinished reliefs reveal the moment when mastery becomes meditation—
when patience itself is carved into being,
and the dust that falls at a mason’s feet becomes the residue of prayer.
