What are men to rocks and mountains? *

I already feel as if I have been living here for months on end despite it only being my oneish month anniversary since I forsook all the city comforts to go "rough it" on Hornby. And yet, I don't mean to say that time has been lagging for I am often caught off guard wondering how it could already be next week. I have been rather fixated on dates all of a sudden since I arranged to go home for a few days to celebrate my birthday. Afterwards I'll be making the drive back up with M'Colleague who is convenieniently on reading break. I am quite eager to see my family and friends although I daresay I will quickly tire of all the people and noise and wish to back in my little Hobbit Hole soon enough.

All this time has left me to do the things I never found a moment for otherwise. I have been reading and writing a great deal again as well as consuming pot after pot of piping hot tea. Long hikes through the lush greenery, wandering along endless stretches of coast or across the cliffs of Helliwell. Also to be included in my daily activities is a sudden surge in painting, sewing, and baking. All the homemaker activities in which I not so secretly delight in.

There is an incredible silence out here that is only occasionally interrupted. Sometimes if I'm lucky I can get my head to quiet down enough and then all that is left is pure silence. Not much really scares me anymore as it did in the beginning now that I know all the creaking and groaning of the cabin. I find myself walking around at night sometimes. I wander down to the shores of Sandpiper and look up at the moon and the stars for a while. Without the city lights to dull the night sky it really is a sight to see all the stars out in their splendour. Oh dear, I just looked back at what I wrote and must acknowledge that there is a great deal of airy faerieness in my writing - but I won't remove it - because that is how it really is. There is something so magical about this place. I have always had a niggling hope in the back of my head that elves and other such woodland folk might really be real. If it were so, here they would reside.
I had best stop now before you think I've really gone off my rocker!

Toodle Pip'

-S
* Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.