Held in Fiber Studio

Make slowly. Be held.

I started writing because I was afraid of how easily thoughts would disappear. Not the important—but the small ones. How light shifts when I leave a room. The sound of a page turning in the night.

Small observations. They don’t ask to be understood.
Only to be recorded and maybe read, slowly.

— Lucía M.

  • Gemstones

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    “I’ll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marilla where he’s gone and why,” the worthy woman finally concluded. “He…

    ≻: Gemstones

  • Fossils

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    She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope…

    ≻: Fossils

  • Etcetera

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    Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by…

    ≻: Etcetera