It’s been four years since. I’ve met some people from town, but mostly prefer the solitude of this place. The vastness of the grounds does something to you; something forgiving, maybe. The quietness feeds you.

I found it finally; pulled it out of a very twisting, very dark, very wet cave underneath a small waterfall. I dragged it home, the birds and their progeny following me hoping for some fresh berries in the rookery I had built up for them.

I turned on every light in my vast house, made a celebratory cup of tea, scratched my ankle vigorously, and opened the trunk at last.

I’ve been reading its contents for days now; love letters written over many years from a man to his wife; flirtatious notes, long letters of yearning, crisp pieces of ordinary detail, always signed the same way: “Undying love”. Treasure indeed.

The End

Image: Public Domain