On my bay window, watching the sea in the unseasonably warm September air. The sky is a pale, pixelated grey today, a stubborn act of life in a world that feels increasingly synthetic.
It’s so easy, to let habit become fact. To let …
Storytelling
Rain
“Ven, cariño,” I call, patting the sofa by the balcony where Madrid folds into itself in terracotta and laundry lines. The rain here is different—cleaner somehow, less perfumed than Pune or Mumbai—but at sixty, I have learned that rain, like memory, changes flavor …