A coda of solitude. My last late afternoon in Savannah was spent prowling the charming stores and restaurants on my own. A Sunday cocktail at the Public Kitchen & Bar was followed by a charming visit to E. Shaver Bookseller, which, like yours truly, has been local and independent since 1975.
Two cats slinked through the rooms, the first one a rich shade of orange with the faintest tiger striping, and the second a smoky grey thing that seemed to disappear and reappear as if by apparition. Room after room, filled to the brim with books and little reading nooks, I disappeared into the maze that was Savannah. Like most shops here, this would be tinged with enchantment and fleeting magic. Gone as soon as you tried to get it within your grasp.
That sort of fleetingness carries its own appeal, the way the wind can gently lift a silk scarf around your neck in gossamer glory, then disappear before anyone else gets to see the whimsy.
Savannah had worked its enchantment on me. In this special city, where the lions had wings and the camellias continued to bloom into December, I breathed in some of its magic, hoping that it would stay with me.
We had one more night here…
