It was cold but sunny as Jim ventured out to take some cuttings from the fruit trees for grafting in the spring.
He’d been looking through the seeds he’d saved to make a plan of what to plant, where and when. The plan more or less made itself as he followed a strict rotation, although there was a bit of annual variation because of the size of the beds being different.
His writing was more of a diary than a letter, and he imagined it had more chance of being discovered by someone than he had ever of posting it. He thought the chances of Olivia discovering it were slim to non-existent, but he consoled himself, hoping she might still be alive and that one day the diary might find its way into her hands and she might read it.
But he didn’t know what the point was, what he hoped to achieve,
