Finding peace (by Heather)

Write about your experience of life as a hermit.

I have been a hermit for 336 days now.

Time doesn’t have the same grip on me that it used to, but my one concession has been to keep track of the days. This morning I pencilled the 336th stroke on the laundry room wall.

I am sitting on my little cobblestone patio, watching the sun head quickly toward the horizon. Today is a particularly red sunset. The hills are glowing, the river in the distance burns red. I almost dare to look directly at the sun.

I review my day today: I rose at 5:00 and made tea while the birds cranked up their day as well. I did a half hour of yoga, then chopped up some fruit and had breakfast. I visited with the lorikeets at the bird feeder while topping up the apples and seed. I checked the seedlings in the garden and watered them. I drove down to the ocean and walked the beach an hour each way. I stained the bird house I built yesterday. I scrubbed the cottage floor even though it didn’t need it. A day much like every other in most respects.

The sun has disappeared. A sigh escapes me. I glance at the paper lying on the bench beside me. I pick it up again, and reread the short letter from my daughter, picked up from the mail box this morning.

Dear Mum,
I assume all is well, as I haven’t heard anything from you. I know I promised I wouldn’t disturb your hermitage, but I wanted you to know that…well, how else to say it!? – I’m pregnant. With only 3 months to go. I caught myself WADDLING in the shop window the other day. All is going well with Greg – better than you thought it would!
I don’t expect you to help, Mum. I don’t expect anything, but I realised I really wanted you to know.
Love you,
Carolyn

I catch myself smiling while I envision Carolyn waddling.

This was not the only big thing that happened today. This afternoon (after a couple weeks of procrastination), I phoned to get the results from the long trip to visit my oncologist (that after several months of procrastination).

“Nothing but good news, Julia,” he’d said when he came on the line. “You’re in great shape. You’re in complete remission.”

I sigh deeply again. It’s been quite a day, really. More of a day than a hermit should have to put up with.

I gather up the letter and move into the house. I lean against the door, then go to the bedroom where I reach under the bed and haul out the antique oval mirror from where I stashed it 335 days ago. I sit on the bed with it and inspect the image as objectively as I can. I see a face with a few more wrinkles than when I last peered at it; I see choppy shoulder length hair, long since grown out of its cut, with several inches of salt and pepper followed by its more familiar layer of dark brown. I’m surprised by the colour in the face and an unfamiliar serenity in the eyes.

I mount the mirror on the wall where it used to live, and step outside again. It’s still light enough that I can see, just across the fence from me, a brown cow with a white face walking slowly along the fence line, followed by a miniature version of herself. The calf, probably just a few days old, runs to catch up, then soon forgets itself again and stops to scratch itself with a back leg. It peers in my direction before frolicking off again towards its mother.

The pair disappears behind the trees. I go back inside and draw the curtains against the gathering dark. I walk swiftly to the spare bedroom and drag the big old suitcase off the top of the wardrobe. My heart is thumping.

The 337th day will be something different.