Beyond the front windows of the cottage, the evening sky slowly shifted hues, fading from soft blue to a purple shawl of silk wrapped around the gracefully spiraling arms of the Grandmother Monterey cypress. On the table nearby, a pair of golden beeswax tapers flickered and danced with flame as I sat silently, listening to the music.
Books, like alluring strangers, can unexpectedly sweep you off your feet. Still, I hadn’t expected to be seduced and fall in love. A month or so ago, I picked up The Little Paris Bookshop while browsing at a somewhat unfriendly bookstore (it’s hard to believe that such places exist, it seems contrary to the nature of
It was a one in a million chance. Or, as I like to say, a mysterious intersection of fate and destiny. That I would happen to encounter one of my favourite authors sitting at a famous Left Bank café in Paris was improbable enough, yet a half dozen other factors that day led up to
Her death was unexpected. At eighty-four, though somewhat stooped from the hump of her back and moving more slowly than in years previous, my father’s older sister was still sharp, spritely, and feisty as ever. Two weeks ago, a fall shattered her leg and landed her in the hospital, where she contracted pneumonia and died
A winter storm approaches and the sea is heaving and restless. Seated in the small dining alcove of my cozy writer’s studio, I gaze out at surging waves of liquid pewter, listening to their dull roar. Some seasonal piano music plays quietly in the background, creating a holiday mood while a large red poinsettia and