Sourdough and Longing
On rainy mornings and proofing dreams
Sourdough and Longing Today feels like an autumn morning — air heavy and still with rain drip-dripping on my windows, mourning the things that couldn't stay. I gather dreams that vanished after dawn, sprinkle with flour — for sourdough and longing, and mix them until bitter turns to sweet, tasting like a forbidden fruit of yearning. If I must learn to let them go, these dreams — I'd rather have them savoured on my tongue than watch them turn into a pile of ash when there's no more desire left to burn. © Lana E. Taylor, 23 Aug 2025
This came to me on a slow, grey Saturday morning.
The one that finally feels like autumn after a long, scorching summer.
I was thinking of dreams and sourdough,
longing and rain —
the things that haunt me even in my sleep.
Not all poems are fire.
Some are just what’s left after the burn.
What stays with you after everything turns to ash?
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Sending love and light,
Lana
Of Salt & Silence
Text + Soul © Lana E. Taylor
Steal my breath, not my words.
ᚂᚐᚅᚐ ᚈᚐᚔᚂᚑᚏ