There is a word the wind forgets to carry: . It rests in the hollow of a chestnut shell, in the pause between a question and an answer, in the way an old door sighs before opening.
— A small light in a large dusk
Go gently, Goraizle. And stay.
If you listen closely at the edge of sleep, you might hear Goraizle humming — not a melody, but the memory of one. It says: You do not have to be loud to be remembered. You only have to be present in the place where you are needed.