Amabile by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Amabile
Page 105
It was perfect.
He didn’t regret traveling. Disappointment had its uses. It sharpened the senses. It taught you what mattered by showing you what didn’t. But as he sat there, hands wrapped around the mug, he understood something he hadn’t before he left.
He had been searching for some remarkable diversity out there, when the thing he actually needed was the quiet relief of returning to a place that made no promises and still managed to deliver more.
Outside, a breeze nudged the apple tree. A single leaf drifted down, spiraling lazily.
Morey watched it fall, and for the first time in weeks, felt entirely at ease.
There was a familiarity; a warm, comforting familiarity, as opposed to the loud, imposing familiarity he had found in Diversityland which he likened to molestation; a crime of violence.
Morey had barely finished his tea when he noticed it; something small, out of place, and absolutely not part of the house he’d left behind.
There was a quiet shift in the air.