The arc of the bay curved gently into the distance. Jasmine always enjoyed the views from her home but today the coast seemed desolate, not offering its usual pleasures. The grey, indecisive sea was empty of fishing boats and the surrounding cliffs were starkly barren.
The black shadow of a raven brushed across the deck. From a tall, decimated cactus came the call of its mate – a slow, high ah-ah-ah-aaaah, with the last note drawn out.
Jasmine recalled how she once thrived on being alone: she could have been a lighthouse keeper if the position still existed. Now the idea of filling a week before her partner Luke’s return seemed a challenge.
Sure, there are paintings to finish, poetry to write, window-shopping at Ikea and the dog to care for. Exciting stuff. She frowned.
‘What do you think, Sartre?’
Sartre the Lhasa Apso seemed content – after all, he had her.
The hot wind chanted louder. Temperatures in the high thirties were expected for the next few days. Mid-Spring and the grass and native garden had already dried out.
How to fill my time? Perhaps meditate, eat Lean Cuisine, cut down on wine and finish my paintings. A whole week … just me, the dog and my ghosts.