Author name: Mathew Haden

By the time the air smells faintly of woodsmoke and the first breath of cold settles into the garden, something […]

The first cold night arrived with a kind of sharp honesty. The wind slipped between the houses, the last leaves

The first thing you notice is the silence. No familiar hum, no revolving glass plate, no impatient beeps urging you

The sound comes first: that brittle whisper of a rake teeth-dragging over dry autumn leaves. For decades, it’s been the

The first thing you notice is the sound: a whisk ticking against a metal bowl, rhythmic and soft, like a

The first time you see it, you don’t quite believe it’s real. A thin, ghostly filament of light stretches across

The first thing you notice is the sound—or rather, the near absence of it. A low, steady hum, like distant

The first thing you notice is the silence. Not the gentle hush of waves against a harbor wall, but a

On a soft, washed-out Sunday afternoon, I watched my neighbor, Mr. Harris, in his tiny front yard, gently pressing marigold

The last time your microwave whirred to life, did you listen to it? That low hum, the rattle of a

On the evening the papers were signed, the storm rolled in over the valley like a slow, thoughtful animal. It

The first time I watched a dog fall silent without being scolded, it felt like magic. No sharp “No!” snapped

The first thing you’ll notice is the silence. Not all at once, but as if someone is slowly turning down

The mirror is already fogging over when you notice it—the first faint trace of a scent that doesn’t belong. Not

By Sunday afternoon, the light in my bathroom is brutally honest. It slants through the small window, hitting the mirror

The first thing you notice is the silver—soft, shimmery, like moonlight caught in strands. Not a harsh line, not a

The first time someone told me to hang bay leaves on my bedroom door, I laughed. Not a rude laugh—more

The first time I stepped off a subway train into an empty station on the outskirts of a Chinese city,

The first time I noticed it, the afternoon light was slanting just so across the kitchen floor, catching on the

The box of old shoes sat by the front door like a tiny graveyard. Scuffed sneakers with frayed laces, a

The first time you stand in front of a glowing wood stove on a bitter evening, there’s a moment when