Here’s a short piece written for : For Markéta B. Woodman
And perhaps that’s why I imagine you as someone who listens more than most. To the pause between words. To the creak of floorboards in an old house. To what people almost say before they say something else. marketa b woodman
Markéta B. Woodman — not a name you shout across a room, but one you lean in to hear. And once heard, not forgotten. Like the scent of rain on dry ground. Like the first note of a cello in an empty hall. Here’s a short piece written for : For Markéta B
Wherever you are — writing, walking, waiting for tea to steep — this piece is for you. A small acknowledgment that someone saw your name and recognized a world inside it. To the creak of floorboards in an old house