By the Letter – 8 –

On Sunday morning Deirdre packed her last things, but she wasn’t in a hurry. She’d ordered her taxi for the airport to give her plenty of time. The view outside her apartment windows was stunning—the sea lay almost as flat as a mirror before her, reflecting the sun, with no wind as far as the eye could see.

If her mind before had been black and white or shaded in grey, it now seemed clear, bright, even colored. When she thought back to the path, it revealed a peace that only nature in its purity can offer. She hadn’t bought any souvenirs to show her children and her husband at home; wherever she had been she brought with here in spirit, and that showed plenty.

She had had so many enlightening experiences back there on the path that she couldn’t keep from smiling as she gathered her last things to carry down to the taxi, which was arriving in about five minutes. Deirdre had dressed in style—this time she wanted to show herself. She had added a little more color to her makeup, subtle but noticeable. She felt no need to hide anymore.

She packed her book in her carry-on luggage as the last item, to be opened when her flight had taken off. As she waited for her departure, she walked the path in her memory once more to ensure that she hadn’t left anything behind.

It was all there, the height of liberation, the sea below taking her further out, reflecting like a mirror, and with the sky illuminating it all.

Her flight was announced, and when the plane took off it did so in the direction of the cliff path she had walked. Deirdre once more got a sight of the path from her window seat high above. It looked so thin and small and yet so mighty.

As the isle of Guernsey vanished behind her, Deirdre took out her book. She smiled widely, turning the pages one by one, back and forth. She had walked the path and brought it with her in her soul, and all the pages in the book were empty except the last, which showed only two words, “The End.” Deirdre almost laughed.

The cover and the back revealed nothing that had happened to her; they were the same as when she had borrowed it. She’d heard, of course, that you shouldn’t judge a book by the cover. That seemed like an understatement now.

Once she landed, Deirdre returned the book to the library, as the others before her had, and the elderly librarian smiled at her as she left. The book was replaced on the shelf, as had happened so many times before.

… to be borrowed again, you might wonder? How would I know? That, I think, is yet another story to discover that has not yet been written.

THE END

 

Okay, this is St. Peter Port on a beautiful, sunny day after I returned from yet another cliff walk.

I did spend one additional, unexpected week in Guernsey, finishing this story among other things, viciously walking the path every day after Deirdre’s departure, as I felt the need to get in shape (not quite true, but anyway). However, the money I saved on this free exercise, by not paying a gym or something similar, I spent wisely on that half-way Fermain Bay restaurant, and I have loved every minute spending it all. The weather has been at its best—not a cloud in the sky—just perfect.

Hobby or not, I have enjoyed telling you this short story. It certainly has a true background from similar events, excursions far out that I have experienced being by myself. Like in this story, I brought all those discoveries and understandings with me, and in many ways they have enriched my life.

Yours truly,

Li Sam