Writing in Greece

Somebody pinch me. I’m writing under an olive tree. Ripening pomegranates to my right, sheep and figs to my left. Lord knows what’s under me waiting to hatch! I’m staying in the house of Anne, who died last year. There’s a little monument for her here and she’s wearing a beautiful blue dress my lovely friend Karen gave her. It’s good and hard to meet you, Anne. Your home is beautiful. And so are you! Thanks for the shade. And the wifi ;)

I am coming near the end of the story. I edited the first draft of my novel for eight hours today. I had no food and I forgot to get dressed. My friend came over and we ate grapes and then rode around on a little moped. I walked home in the dark - a beautiful dark where I could hear the wind on fig leaves. I could hear my feet. I could hear the country.