Departure

January 17. I had a curious visitor a few days ago - a Frenchwoman M. Cartier, a tanner of buffalo - but more of the look of a hunter about her, oddly enough. She had heard of me and the piano, and sought me out to see it for herself. She seemed surprised by my disposition, but did not inquire deeply about it. I sensed she had lost someone, yet is at peace with it. Quite uncharacteristic of me, I asked her how she had come to cope. She said that the isle itself awoke her. Some saw it as a hell, a curse, purgatory – some as a paradise, but that no one truly knew it at all. It was life, she said, and the isle gave birth to all manner of wonders to feed our curiosity. “We were not the first here,” she told me. “Others were here, you can see it in the ruins to the north, the Great Spheres upon the plains. This was a city once, all around us.” I inquired what happened to this city, and the people before us. She smiled and said, “M. Grenville, perhaps you were brought here to answer that question.” I gave her words much thought over the past few days. I will seek out these structures and what sense can be made of them – it is better than remaining here and letting more dust gather upon the piano keys. R. Grenville