Beauty doesn’t wait to be full grown.

There is a way to live soft as a shea nut and as demanding of air, at every interruption in your story.

Climbing Arua Hill, there is one impossible moment when everything disappears but the tall grass and sky. You think you will walk straight into blue, only to crest and find rock rolling beneath your feet, balding as if it has tired of the petty games of telling dirt to stay home. The dirt becomes dust, rushed away by the wind, swallowed by small human t…