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Delia Owens

Before fiction, Owens was a wildlife scientist in Africa; she co-wrote Cry of the Kalahari with her then-husband Mark.

Feels like melancholy, nature and solitude.

The moment a child learns that a goodbye is different from an errand.

Ma always looked back where the foot lane met the road, one arm held high, white palm waving, as she turned onto the track, which wove through bog forests, cattail lagoons, and maybe-if the tide obliged-eventually into town. But today she walked on, unsteady in the ruts. Her tall figure emerged now and then through the holes of the forest until only swatches of white scarf flashed between the leaves. Kya sprinted to the spot she knew would bare the road; surely Ma would wave from there, but she arrived only in time to glimpse the blue case-the color so wrong for the woods-as it disappeared. A heaviness, thick as black-cotton mud, pushed her chest as she returned to the steps to wait.
Excerpt from Where the Crawdads Sing, Delia Owens, G.P. Putnam's Sons 2018. Quoted for discovery. Source Rights & removals

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