Solo Poly | Sophie Frances Kemp | Granta
<img aria-hidden decoding="async" src="https://litbreaker.nui.media/pipeline/517985/0/vc?z=litbreaker&dim=514838,514839&kw=&click=" width="" height="" alt="" border="0"> The compound was set on 300 acres of deciduous wood. There was a creek that babbled. A saltwater swimming pool they called Infinity. A greenhouse full of plants. Red clay tennis courts where you could volley, serve, volley, serve. A wrought iron table where we ate apple galettes. A beach where the flotsam and jetsam might kiss you. There were fish too. Calvados in a Styrofoam cup. There was no town nearby. No local market at which to shop. Instead, grounds, compound, Jacob’s porcelain ladder pointed to the sky. Instead, the tug of crisp cotton on your neck. A ladies’ mule, brown suede. Size 37. To me this was all a beautiful occurrence. I had not been here for long, but I already viewed this place as my home. It was so peaceful. You could hear a songbird’s song, a bobolink, as if it were right next to yo
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