Chapter 39

Ewan says that does not make me crazy, I wrote that mild morn. He tells I must have the mind of an author, and I should someday publish my musings, some imaginary tales, or else the real one that recently happened, all in my own words.

The walkway was beautiful now. The roof was gone, the spiky, short posts as well. It looked completely different. The scrollwork on the path rose only waist-high and the heart shapes looked like hearts. Mine and Ewan’s, I imagined them as.

As I made my way to the gazebo alone, I listened to the birds and watched the moths and the butterflies. Solitude was not as painful anymore, since I knew it was temporary, merely countable minutes, the longest span thus far being only forty-five until Ewan joined me or I him.

A grasshopper leapt into view, and then away just as quickly. It was a beautiful late spring day. April was like summer here much of the month, and I felt as I would l never tire of being outside, even when winter returned.