I feel like a girl on an island, except the island is a hill in Tuscany.
I go outside at night and listen to the leaves rustle. Wild boars grunt in the olive groves. A pile of wood next to the house stands fallow until winter. A cool breeze slips sharp through my sweater.
Listening to the world is an experience I welcome in life.
Sleeping in pitch dark, in the quiet of the old farmhouse, terrified me at first but now is welcoming.
I no longer leave the light on at night.
I dream of strange things that I can’t remember in the morning.
I watch the leaves turn from green to gold over the hills surrounding the farmhouse. I eat the fruit from the garden and find I can cook well after all. I learn because I have to learn.
I deal with slow Internet and procrastination and cabin fever and self-doubt. I try to move enough every day that I do not become totally sedentary.
I am stranded. I am frustrated. But I am also happy.