(Photo: Kajetan Sumila on Unsplash)
He was, but not quite, a solitudinarian.
He lived alone. His homestead perched atop a bluff where steep trails provided an effective fencing.
He offered bare gruff care for stranded hikers whose calculations of the weather led them to beg shelter.
Townspeople cast shadows on his hermitage. No sane man, they insisted, would give up their company.
He differed.
He came down from the mountain only rarely, for provisions he could not otherwise procure, his expression ascertaining that friendship remained off that list.
And yet.
He loved. The one. Before.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: solitudinarian in 90 words
Na'ama Yehuda 
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