After a few short years {fifteen, to be exact - brief by his count, interminable by hers}, surrounded by all this vegetative rampancy, she was feeling increasingly unsure of herself. She missed the built environment of New York City. It was only in an urban landscape, amid straight lines and architecture, that she could situate herself in human time and history. As a novelist she needed this. She missed people. She missed human intrigue, drama and power struggles. She needed her own species, not to talk to, necessarily, but just to be among, as a bystander in a crowd or an anonymous witness.
But here, on the sparsely populated island, human culture barely existed and then only as the
thinnest veneer.
But here, on the sparsely populated island, human culture barely existed and then only as the
thinnest veneer.
( Ruth Ozeki )
[ A Tale for the Time Being ]
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