15 August

No need for another year, dearest journal. It should be a curious thing indeed, to have an entire cycle of the Earth pass without my knowledge, but I am confident no such mysteries have occurred. I do, however, have others to share!

My jaunt around the house ended with nightfall, and how swiftly does the sun set! All night long, the ferocious washing of the sea against the cliffs below kept me awake. Birds and various unseen animals seemed to rush at the house in the safety of night. Every direction I rolled in bed contained the sound of hundreds of small feet rushing up and down the walls and furniture. I am sure there is a rat problem. Trapped in this state of sleeplessness, I wanted desperately to get up and continue my exploration of the house, but such a desire was squashed when I recalled how very little of my candles I had in my possession. To wait until daylight, and oh, what a miserable thing! I awoke, as I'm sure you can imagine, in utter disarray.

Upon my hopeful journey into the kitchens for breakfast, I discovered that whatever had been inside the night before had consumed all of the cheese and bitten into the bread. It was a glum bowl of porridge for breakfast, but my hopes weren't dashed entirely through - I would be fueling my curiousity and imagination with the contents of a house much older than I, whose walls were sure to contain a mystery or two. Such delights for the day quite erased the drab taste of my food, and I finished my meal with this little book and quite the number of pens in hand (I had the strong feeling I would be dropping more than a few, and no doubt into some dark and hairy crevice I did not wish to expunge the pen from).

First to explore in my new home was the ground floor. From what I could see on a quick observation of the outside, there were three floors to work through, the third being nearly the smallest as there were really only one or two rooms to access up there. The ground floor appeared the most expansive, and I assumed that it would take the better part of a week, given my proclivities to poor health and allergies, to mush my nose through. How thrilling! The rain had begun to fall before I could make any sort of crude map of the outside, so my investigations began a little half-heartedly. I would not be deterred! With markedly less lighting at my disposal (how wonderfully dark the clouds were!), I began to peek into the rooms surrounding my chambers. Equipped with an abysmal sense of direction, I knew not which way I faced when approaching the first room upon entry to the house, but it was smallish, quaint, and covered in dust. It was my mistake not to cover my face with a cloth, because I was reduced to a sneezing mess the first few minutes I overturned furniture and coverings. Nothing much to note about the room, save for a painting on an otherwise bare wall, depicting a rather majestic view of the seas below as I could see it from the edge of the house. I, lowly little Winn Peterson, had stood in the steps of inspiration! The thought filled me with such joy that my sneezing made no dent on my mood henceforth, but spurred me onto the next room.

This one appeared simply a spare bedroom, and possessed neither any charms, nor evidence that another person had ever maintained themselves within it.

Situated next to my own resting place was an observation room built almost entirely up of windows and candle-holders. How spectacular! I suspected that I would spend many a day within the walls of this fine locale, and took several minutes out of my investigation to observe the rain through the fine window. I could visualise hanging various plants from the nooks and shelves around the room, and was wrapped up in the fantasy of the future for quite longer than a few moments. I did find one thing of note in the room, tucked under the lid of the window seat, and this a handwritten note detail what appeared to be the various shops in town. The handwriting was exceedingly hard to make out (how familiar I should have been with it, given my own awful penmanship) but revealed at least the name of an apothecary, and a meagre post office. I resolved to visit town within the week and send home my findings for the day to my parents and a general update on my health. 

Next, I discovered a pantry that would have proved wonders this morning. It was filled to the brim with coffee, flour, beans, a healthy source of dried meats wrapped in paper, ground spices in a rather large tin, each portion labeled with the heavenly smell that emanated from within, more than a few containers of tea (thank God! I was extremely partial, but Philadelphia was not nearly as eager as I in the wake of national spirit to avoid the leafy beverage), and a little storage of cheese wheels that I sorely regretted not seeing earlier. I should remember to hide my food henceforth in this treasure trove! It was to my delight that I discovered a tin of almonds hiding underneath the beans, and I snacked heartily as I continued looking around my new home. 

There wasn't much else to the ground floor. It appeared from the outside as though there were more rooms, perhaps, but my situational awareness was as lacking as my directions, and I could have misviewed the size of the rooms amidst the happiness I experienced looking at this perfect home on the cliffs in England. Just the thought made me smile, and I went to nap in the observatory room, my sniffling and my itchy eyes having made me sleepier with the rain's colour washing over the house. 

16 August

I did not mean to fall asleep for the rest of the day, but the rain continued all throughout the afternoon, and I was thoroughly lulled to sleep by it all. I awoke in a panic, I will admit, and was convinced that I was late for something or I had perhaps missed my father on his way to the shipyards for the day. Bittersweet was the moment, for I realised I hadn't missed anything, but neither was my father near! A warm embrace and a tale about the seas and a secret sip of brandy would have cured me rightly of my sudden emotion, and I wasted a little while reminiscing about my father and his unfailing love for me. 

If one day I find myself an author of excellent renown, such as my delightful heroines, Ms. Jane Austen (what biting wit! I myself am too soft to express such sharp irony, but I do admire a woman with the ability to say what's on her mind, with no fear whatsoever), and dearest Mary Shelley, I should buy my parents both a house and we would live together forevermore, untouched by distance or regret! On the subject of Shelley, I will admit to being very perplexed upon reading Frankenstein for the first time, as my mother gave it to me at the unprepared age of nine years, but subsequent rereadings have produced exactly the sense of dread, moral questioning, and miserable landscaping I admire so in my novels. Hopeful novels, I should add. I have yet to complete anything, much to my dissatisfaction, but I find the latent ideas of death and questioning of all we do and see the most appealing to scribble about. 

I digress! 

It is so easy to trail away in one's journal. It is very much like a meeting with an old friend at some familiar place, where you can talk with abandon about anything at all. Hardly should I feel badly for scribbling away about my literary heroes, my own goals, or my parents in the same stroke of the pen. 

Now that I have proven my point to my future self, should I ever read this again, onward to the rest of my enlightening tour. I caved in to the idea of wasting a candle on my explorations, as I had slept away all of available light, and held aloft my beacon into the rooms beyond the kitchens and the pantry. There was some odd chamber that I supposed must have been for a servant, stocked with a few linens and pillows, but nothing else to look at. I did consider the practicality of the room, and while I was by no means rich or of station enough to afford a servant, I will admit to pondering heavily the benefits of inviting someone in to stay with me. How hasty a decision, perhaps, and after only one night of being alone in my new home? Nevertheless, someone from nearby who would know the land, the places to visit, the best prices for food had a lure I couldn't deny. I made my way through the rest of the gloomy ground floor in shivering excitement (the rain had taken over the house with a stern chill) and found only a few more storage spaces, a room seemingly designed for curling up around a fireplace, and a sort of entryway for a garden leading to the back. This delighted me endlessly, and I resolved to investigate how to start raising my own food with the help of an eventual friend. I was quite determined by the end of my visit to host some other individual to reside with me by the end of my self-guided tour, and I wrote a letter home detailing these plans. I wished dearly Anais could have stayed with me beyond our entrance to the country together, but I also understood her desire to see a bit more of the world with what little oppourtunity she had left. 

I wished for a replacement (I will note for my future sake that I know Anais can never be replaced), and spent the rest of my night preparing to be sleepy during the day. 

Sleepily, 

Winn