Circles of Clouds

What does it mean to listen—to a room, to a memory, to a silence that refuses to name itself?In Circles of Clouds, the stories move like weather—slowly, often without warning, and sometimes without consequence that can be easily described. There are no storms that announce themselves loudly here. Instead, there are shifts in air, in light, in the weight of a familiar space.Each story stands on its own, yet echoes another. A courtyard in one becomes a memory in another. A voice heard faintly in passing returns, altered, in a different moment. The boundaries between stories are porous, as they are in life—where what is left behind rarely stays there.These are not stories of what happens, but of what remains.