Author: sophiewilkie

the starlight motel

silver springs and the starlight motel it’s the strangest state to find yourself in now you’ve got me brought to my knees, here your devotional words are feeling foreign, unfamiliar and what had once felt like home or like grace feels apparitional now, it moves in abstract shapes rising fog, speeding freight trains these are my desert days

rose-gold

i am comfortably coaxing fragments of a past self, into the present. crescent eyelids, closing. a slow exhaling. two hummingbirds hover by the kitchen window, bathed in the rose-gold evening glow of southern california, in late october. coconut dahl simmers on the stove. i am softly falling, i have waited for this.

dust ladders.

touch deep time. this desert night is silver-tinged, and silent. you climb dust ladders into the light and i am early morning freeway speeding, west through the mojave. just a beaming string of refulgent headlights piercing two inky infinities. we are all suspended somewhere in-between.

little things

non-exhaustive, list of lovely little things to be grateful for // golden raspberries farmers markets sweet peas churchbells harebells earl grey forget me nots wisteria trellises palo santo the smell of jasmine peppermint tea tulsi finger sandwiches abalone shells pistachio ice cream fairy lights singing bowls wildflowers moroccan lanterns cherry blossoms cups and saucers porridge with butter and brown sugar lilac turtleneck jumpers jam on toast christmas stockings maltese dogs tealights sourdough bread steaming bowls of soup chai tea well worn persian carpets pyjamas just pulled from a tumbledryer peter pan collars curly hair the silence after snowfall labradoodles! adonis blue butterflies stained glass sparkling wine chestnuts kaleidoscopes opals ugly squash! hanging crystals rose gold evening glow coconut dahl japanese sugar maples in autumn dark chocolate sparklers the northern lights dew drops purring cats/a litter of kittens french pastries berets wild strawberries magnolia trees afternoon tea teapots grandfather clocks ginger cordial watercolours heirloom tomatoes snowdrops silk shirts fireflies and music boxes

home is a harbour.

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

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.