Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation.

More than anything, this place feels familiar. I bury my hands in the hot sand and think about the embodiment of memory or, more specifically, our natural ability to carry the past in our bodies...

Chasing angels or fleeing demons, go to the mountains.

He wasn’t a great man, but he had a great life.