Natalie Wilkinson

Joined May 2021

145 stories

Bio

Writing. Woven and Printed Textile Design. Architectural Drafting. Learning Japanese. Gardening. Not necessarily in that order.

IG: @maisonette _textiles

Achievements (6)

Stories (145)

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Monadnock Mountain
Once in a blue moon, Climbing Monadnock Mountain, A pale dawn, a rose.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
Incense
Can a sole value Evoke the scent of incense? Lapis lazuli.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
Youth
Blueberries mature Trading firm green for soft blue. So youth comes to age.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
The Azure Blue Sky
The azure blue sky Emptied of all but silence. A swallow soars up.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
That Apples Don’t Fall Far
That apples don’t fall far from the tree is a reliable condition of living. Some drop when the rains don’t come, when it’s too hot,
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
Routine
At five am the world is silent. The coffee made while holding my breath adds little sound to the day. I curl up in a chair and become the breathing part of it.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Poets
Zambia Journal. Top Story - August 2022.
I start my story somewhere around the beginning of the middle. It is March in 2022. We are on The Great North Road, in a Land Rover, in Zambia, traveling from the capital, Lusaka, to Fimpulu in Luapula Province near the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) border. I am riding with my daughter, one of her bosses, a coworker of my daughter, and her mother. I landed at Kenneth Kaunda International Airport in Lusaka two days previously, after twenty-two hours of flying from JFK in New York and a mid-journey eight-hour overnight layover in Doha, Qatar. The other mother, an American living in Dubai, had just landed after a seven-hour flight.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Wander
Sweepstakes
It is the steady swooshing sound that wakes me up. It vaguely registers that I am on a train as I struggle to reach osmosis through the thin membrane between wakefulness and sleep. I hear quiet Japanese spoken as I strain to open my eyes.
By Natalie Wilkinson3 years ago in Fiction
Making Room
I’m cleaning out my daughter’s room, the parade of thirty years since she came to me in a dream; strawberry blond and blue-eyed in a largely brunette world.
By Natalie Wilkinson4 years ago in Poets
With Regret
My father grew up red-haired, freckled, and blue-eyed on a South Dakota potato farm. Until he was twelve, his family plowed the land with horses and used kerosene lanterns for light.
By Natalie Wilkinson4 years ago in Families
Early Summer
After the rhubarb, asparagus, and salad greens of late spring, summer begins in earnest in the garden. Next in line after that trio, there are the strawberries of early summer.
By Natalie Wilkinson4 years ago in Feast
We Knew Dragons
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. No one today remembers the year when the first ones flew in, black and ominous on the wing, and settled in the unoccupied northern forest.
By Natalie Wilkinson4 years ago in Fiction