All I knew was that the hermit lived in a ‘small house’—which could cover any number of hermetic habitations. Might he be locked inside a cell, dwell in a cave warmed by wolves or bears, or crouch within a flimsy tent of goatskins like something out of a Byzantine icon?
When we arrived at a traditional wooden house and were offered (the Indologist and I) glasses of cherry brandy and comfortable chairs to sit upon, I felt a twinge of disappointment. However, looking around the room, I spotted one item of furniture that more than satisfied my expectations—a large coffin, in which the hermit slept.
During this period of enforced isolation, when we are daily obliged to confront the real or metaphorical coffin in the room, my thoughts have taken a reclusive turn once more. Choosing to withdraw from society is one thing, but having it imposed is quite another. If one were to retreat from the world voluntarily, what sort of dwelling might facilitate such a lifestyle? Might living in a purpose-built hermitage make lockdown any more palatable?
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة February 17, 2021 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة February 17, 2021 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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