mottled amber oak leaves, colliding with, collecting on, the windscreen. cloaking the cracked tarmac of this crumbling country lane. out of place, a hidden strength, like summer lilac in late september, still clinging to the carved out cliffsides of silver thread falls.
home, is a harbour. home is a guiding light through stormy water. home is a whistling kettle bubbling, boiling, hissing, home is the kitchen windows steaming. home is a collection of miscellaneous, dishwasher chipped mugs, set haphazardly in crammed cupboards, home is ‘a spoon of sugar for me’, and gifted whittards’ tins, a whole world of tea. home is crimson painted walls, and flaking woodchip, home is barefooted tiptoeing terracotta tiles, and fraying persian carpet. home is the ticking away of a grandfather clock, each hour it will chime, home is the peachy evening gentle glow of fading daylight, dappled through single pane glass, a window from which you will watch the seasons pass. home is hanging crystal prisms catching the sun, casting patterns on the bedroom wall. home is a cluttered desk covered in photographs, potions, powders, notebooks, you’ve neglected some or all. home is cast iron pots and brass pans, the scents of garlic, rosemary, wafting up the stairs. home is wholesome, healing food, soups, stews, broths, and rising loaves of bread. home …
dragon’s mouth, fairy creek, sulphur and mid-summer heat. my fingers are sticky with wild blackberry honey, watch as bison roam under the shadow of thunderstorms. through bluebell and beargrass meadows. skirting the crumbling edges of bonewhite angel terraces. vapour clouds rise from the thin crust earth.
a suitcase, filled with earl grey, raspberry rose farmers market dark chocolate, ginger cordial, a recommendation of my fathers, cretan cookbooks, and a hand carved wooden cat. i pack overpriced magic creams, potions, powders, glitter and make a little room for hope, too gathered like fine dust to fill the spaces between things. take a deep breath, slow exhale, and fly west. my plane takes an unusual route, across the atlantic pushed a little further north by the gathering force of another hurricane. i wear an embroidered silk shirt and though swamped in my favourite cardigan i still shiver.