She had come here to get away from it all. She stared blankly at the stark white paper resting against the smooth wooden desk. Her fingers felt sore from twirling a red coated writing pencil in her hand. She clenched her fist around it in frustration, wondering how much pressure she could exert without breaking it. Yet, somehow she could have so easily snapped it through the force of her pent up emotions.
It was a grey day. The ocean stretched for miles and miles. Before her was a long rectangular window, opening out to the beach, the sea and a salty horizon. An old fisherman stood at the waters edge tending to his nets. His dog ran playfully around him this way and that, on the beach, having no regard for any opinion under the sun.
Gulls cackled in the distance. She put her pencil down and stared. In her corner of the sky, framed by the window, a golden thread of sunshine wove its way through the clouds.
She was away from it all. Far from everything that she needed time and space from to sort out. And yet the volume of her thoughts in this peaceful, cosy wooden cabin furnished with old books, patchwork blankets, and mismatched crockery, would not allow her to rest.
There were answers there that she knew she needed to find. Answers beyond the old library of books. Answers beyond the horizon and beyond every mirage of this world.
There was no noise in here except from the ticking of an old timepiece on the mantel. She could not shake her thoughts, nor quieten them. And so she opened the door and looked down the slope that led steeply to the beach, feeling the air fresh and cold upon her face. She was set on high, but not too far from the life that surrounded her, and she knew that what she needed was waiting, patiently waiting, behind her wanderings, just momently out of sight. She had come away from it all to be quiet, to be still. But the volume of her heart and of her mind told her in more than a whisper that her future, her quiet horizon, was waiting for her…..was with him. (c).