solitude

From chapters 9-12 of The Language of Bees....the latest (for me!) Mary Russell novel by Laurie King.
Utterly enjoyable.


"I set the wine to cool while I closed up the house against the creatures of the night, then put together a plate of strong cheese, oat biscuits, and summer fruit. I spread some cushions and a travelling rug on the warm stones of the terrace and dined in solitary splendour while the colours came into the sky. I lay with the soft rug around me, watching the azure slip into indigo, and spotted the first meteors.

I fell asleep watching them, no doubt assisted by the better part of a bottle of wine."



"I spent the morning settling into the quiet, amiable house..."



"I spent the rest of the day walking up; up to my own farm, where I looked from a distance and decided I did not wish to spend any more of the day in conversation, and then west towards the Cuckmere."


"Birds sang, despite the lateness of the season, and the lush countryside soothed my parched skin and my thin-stretched spirit."


"I bathed and put on a silk robe I had bought in Japan, and while the kettle boiled, I went to the library in search of a congenial book."


"I was pleased to find a portion of meat pie in the back of the icebox, stale but still smelling good, and ripe tomatoes from the garden outside the door, into which I chopped some onions and cheese. A bottle of cider from the pantry, a slice of stale bread and fresh butter, and I was content in my small and no doubt temporary island of tranquillity. I ate at the scrubbed wood table in the kitchen, and left my dishes in the sink until morning."