The Work of Lana Crichton

Portfolio of Work

Creative Writing

The following is a collection of excerpts taken from my creative writing journal.

Space

The sound of silence feels cool on your knuckles as your fingers coast along the frame of the open window. Your bedroom drinks up a setting sun and the faint call of crows heading south for the evening. The air is briny dancing up your cheeks and down your loose tresses. Droplets unseen to the eye form on the glass and maintain structure as it swings open and closed in agreement with the wind. The windowsill is lined with vibrant lavender, hydrangeas and poppies. A gracious breeze soaks up the fragrance like a terry cloth towel, gifting it to all the senses with one swift eternal motion. A mutual love, the wind returns through the curtains each time it departs through the open door.

Salted air stings on the lips as it seeps in, sealed by a merciless loving sun. It tastes of coconut sunscreen and soft serve ice cream from earlier. After lighting your favorite scented candle, you decide on a hot shower to rinse off the day. A cucumber foam feels cool gliding up and down your skin in contrast to its tolerable burn from the weekend. You work an apricot lather through your tangle of lockes, allowing steam to penetrate the pores and you invite the summer wind to do the same. You hold yourself and allow a delicate stream to derail the suds which run down the body and circle the drain before gently swirling in. You align the burdens you’ve encountered this day with the motion of the fragrant foam, feeling yourself fall lighter as they are lifted off of your conscience and away from your Space.

You find your skin feels smooth and warm to the touch, sailing a cupped palm from wrist to shoulder. You repeat this motion to ensure that you have thoroughly rinsed. The calling of crows becomes more apparent as you shut off the water. Extending an arm outside the shower, you feel around for a towel you had pulled from the dryer just moments before stepping in. It is rolled tightly, its form harboring heat which releases, caressing your face as you hold it above your shoulders and allow it to unravel before you-- stopping just before the floor. You slide the towel around you, wrapping yourself in a warm embrace and relishing in the security it provides. You feel a sense of safety isolated from your burdens, as they drift off out of your line of sight. In this moment, you give yourself to your Space. You allow your favorite candle to gift you with all of its generosity, its scent and the fact alone that it is your favorite. A feeling of gratitude toward your former self emulates from the person holding you. 

The window remains open as a bracing current breezes through your Space. As a once orange sky turns pink and eventually creeps into an indigo hue, your Space still holds its golden glow, as do you as you slip on a soft weightless robe before sinking into your freshly laundered bedsheets. Some rose water mist and essential oils reside on the nightstand beside the bed. You reach over and spray your face and pillows, as well as gliding eucalyptus oil across your wrists and onto each of your temples. It tingles in a pleasant sensation, your worries growing more and more distant as you drift off in thought. Thoughts of eucalyptus trees and rose gardens, and a twinkling sea of stars which you now see have begun to dance for the moon as dusk departs. Your Space strokes your hair and pulls the sheets in more tightly around you and you close your eyes. An evening wind silences the candle and swings the door closed, and the room still feels golden despite the darkness which has not yet entirely slain the horizon. The crows have found a route to safety for the evening, yet their calls still ring around the room in a pleasant hum. You allow sleep to take you, as you find yourself safe for the evening too.

Intervals