I sat in the quiet of the back yard – alone, my book propped on its lower edge upon my knees. The Adirondack chair crafted by my husband was putting a crook in my back, so I slouched a little lower and leaned the book closer. The breeze whisked from the left of me, brushing the skin of my bare arms ever so softly, like a feather lightly gliding down from the heavens. Then it came from the other direction, my right arm receiving the same loving touch. I stared above the book, not really focusing on any one thing, and breathed in the smells of nature. The smells of MY back yard. The smell of alone, but not really alone.
I smiled then, and my eyes returned to the delicious words upon the ecru pages. Immersed in another world, I felt the breeze once more, and felt safely wrapped in my own world, while I let myself succumb to the author’s seduction.