The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

“I couldn’t say. It was left outside the door after a boisterous knock.” “How wonderful!” I approve of boisterous knocks.

Do you remember me telling you of my childhood celebrations at the cottage with my parents? It felt like that—like home, I suppose.

Manna in the form of humour, as it were.

It leaves one feeling inside of the window, instead of outside, looking in.

The winter solstice come and gone in the life of Emma M. Lion. From here, there is only more daylight, inch by inch.

“And now I must go, for when one is approaching spinsterhood, frequent rest is required.

“Even beautiful memories are sometimes too difficult to keep,” he replied.

“Yes. Strange to think, lost to someone else, but found for me.” Islington looked away, towards the window. “As happens in life.”

I find regret so much more palatable than anxious imagination.

I sit at the very top of a fresh month with a choice before me. One which very well may have an impact on the whole of my existence. Which book do I read next?

Something in my heart untwisted when he said the word home.

The idea that one could live in a world where a friend would invite you to go read in another’s library feels more dream than reality. It bodes well for my life’s prospects.