HeyJaredof Salt & Silence
A quiet, elemental place for slower words, deeper breaths and gentle rhythms of reflections.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Sep 15, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
Words Are Witchcraft Too (opens the original)
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I have come to realise that magic isn’t something supernatural. You don’t need to believe in superstitions or crystals or pagan gods to participate in it.All you need is to open your eyes.Magic is found in the mundane. A flicker of sunlight caught through the prism of a glass. A waft of scent carried by the wind that brings about a warm childhood memory. A splash of colour on a butterfly’s wing. The taste of the first sip of coffee in the morning. The lingering fog over the fields. The gold on t
August (opens the original)
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— from the archiveText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedAugust August spills in through my windows with smudges of sunlight, burnt umber, casting deep shadows of willows and linden; while the southern winds sigh with abandon. What are you, August? A melancholic linger of the slowly sinking summer sun, or the first glimpse of a rusty autumn, the beginning of the world’s coming undone? — 02 August 2024 © Lana E. Taylor ᚂᚐᚅ&
Summer's Soft Close (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedcool wind through the reeds summer finds its softest close kissed bronze by the sun — 08 August 2026 © Lana E. Taylor ᚂᚐᚅᚐ ᚈᚐᚔᚂᚑᚏ <a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!ClOk!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpu
Phototaxis (opens the original)
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I am fascinated with moths. The way they orient so hard towards the moon, they burn.That’s how I love.In my home culture, the one I abandoned many years ago, a moth — or a night butterfly — has been associated with promiscuous women. I was too young then to understand why, but I can see it now. That intense desire to touch something you can’t have. Burning every night even if it kills you.But like with most beliefs about women in most cultures, moths (and women) have been misunderstood. They don
Kintsugi Monday (opens the original)
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A bowl broke before breakfast and something broke free.Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Kintsugi Monday Grey Monday. Broken bowl before the breakfast. Coffee gone cold before it touched my lips. Your words still ringing in my mind, the whispers I feel but cannot touch with fingertips. Dustpan too dusty. Trash cans overflowing with feelings I don’t need but can’t discard. And Monday light, still grey, still growing, reveals the bluffing face of last night’
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