The Well
Morning.
The rope damp in his hands.
Stone cool against his knees.
He lowered the bucket.
It struck the wall,
rang once,
then went quiet.
Someone stood behind him.
He did not turn at first.
The air felt thinner,
like breath held too long.
When he looked,
she was there—
bare feet in the dust,
watching the mouth of the well
as if it might answer her.
They said nothing.
The bucket rose, heavy with water.
It spilled over his wrist,
cold enough to sting.
She reached for his hand.
Her fingers were cool.
Unfinished.
For a moment,
everything stayed.
The rope stopped burning.
The world balanced
on the sound of water
settling in the bucket.
Then it ended.
No sign.
No wind.
Light thickened.
A bird cried out.
The rope bit again.
Years later,
he still drew water there.
Sometimes, at dawn,
the air thinned.
He would pause,
hand on the rope,
and feel the place
where something once stood
and taught his body
what it would not keep.
Also in Library
The Stone Is Not the World
A contemplative Angkor essay on how surviving stone has shaped the way Angkor is seen — and why the vanished world of wood, water, labour, smoke, roads, bodies, weather, and devotion must be allowed to return around the temples in What the Stone Hides.
The Consolation of Not Being Separate
There are moments when the world refuses to become personal. The rain falls on the day you needed sun. The illness does not pause because someone is loved. The sea does not soften because a child is afraid. And when the thing prayed against happens anyway, it can feel as if the world has abandoned us. But perhaps what has failed is not the world’s care. Perhaps what has failed is our idea of care.
The Face That Looks Four Ways
The faces of the Bayon have been called Brahma, Lokeshvara, Jayavarman VII, and Vajrasattva. This essay examines the evidence behind each theory and argues that their deepest meaning may lie in a royal-Buddhist synthesis: compassion given the scale of empire.
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If this piece found something in you, you may wish to continue the journey elsewhere.
On The Lantern Chronicles, I gather writings from Angkor, myth and legend, contemplative essays, and poetry — works shaped by silence, beauty, wonder, memory, and the deeper questions that follow us through the world.
It is a place for stone and story, reflection and vow, shadow and revelation.
You would be most welcome there.