chapter 1, page 9

Nearly two hours later, two arguing birds gently woke her. Her eyes still closed, she listened as the twittering grew louder, and finally silenced, as the loser flew off. She heard the whirr of a hummingbird as it darted by, and opened her eyes, hoping to see the jeweled bird. Instead, she caught a glimpse of the huge butterfly she’d seen the day before. It darted into the forest, as it had yesterday, before she could get a good look at it. Now Phoebe regretted not bringing any insect identification books with her, and vowed to visit the local library for one. For now though, she picked up the book that had dropped in her lap, and began reading again.

Days later, Phoebe was thoroughly settled in. She was in the habit of picking up sticks, stones, bird feathers, and other bits and pieces as she walked. The window sills in the cabin were littered with the treasures she’d brought home in the last few days. Texture and color attracted her; they provided inspiration for her quilts and sometimes she would use them in a quilt. Sitting with a stone, she would run her fingers over it, letting her thoughts wander as she stared at the colors and absorbed the texture through her fingers. Twigs that had been smoothed by time spent under rocks in streams were favorites of hers.

Her own sewing, small quilts elaborately embroidered, were hung on the walls. A basket with threads and sewing supplies sat by the easy chair, next to a small table that held two propane lanterns and a pile of books. The kitchen was clean, but not spotless; the counters held the spices and utensils she used on a daily basis, and potholders were scattered over the counter. The cabin reflected the occupant’s life and interests, and had become Phoebe’s home.