A Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton

How appropriate to read the journal of a poet after reading so many poets over the last few weeks!

I am here alone for the first time in weeks, to take up my "real" like again at last. That is what is strange -- that friends, even passionate love, are not my real life unless there is time alone in which to explore and to discover what is happening or has happened. Without the interruptions, nourishing and maddening, this life would become arid. Yet I taste it fully only when I am alone here and "the house and I resume old conversations."

I read these line as Paul went off to a birthday party, and George and Michael went off to Lisa's graduation party promising me several hours of absolute solitude!

It was an easy read compared to poetry! I was nice to get in her head though. She had some powerful things to say even though she is not a woman of faith. She is searching though. I wonder if she found You in the end, Lord?

She reminded me so much of my grandmother who lived alone for most of her life.  She was somewhat of a feminist too. She was always the artist. I wish I would have been able to really get to know her though. She was always so darn cantankerous though!
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