Sena’s shoulders are high and rigid. She runs a hand through her nappy hair for the umpteenth time and clenches and unclenches her jaw, but her eyes sparkle and her voice is full of mirth.
It is a gorgeous, sunny day in the nursery. Gauzy white curtains flutter at the screened sills. The windows across the western wall are thrown open, letting the spring breezes through–as well as the scents of fresh laundry flapping on the lines and apple pie baking in the kitchens.
The buildings and grounds are constructed in concentric arcs that fit the natural contours of the hill, which slopes toward the great Jasper Lake.
As we left, Lotty and I strung a garland of wild asters and daisies across the door, to be removed only by the bride and groom on the morrow, when they enter to spend their first night in their new home.
Across the meadow, and round a huge outcrop of granite, we heard the upper falls before we saw them–two high ribbons, one far above the other, glistening water cascading down a sharp escarpment.
You know how poorly I travel, Noah. I must harness all my strength for the trip.
A light fog rolls in from the west as I wait my turn for the soup tureens. I sniff the air. Co-mingling aromas of garlic, oregano, thyme, basil, and fresh tomato call to me the moment I step inside the door.