Scottish writer Kathleen Jamie likes privacy. Lucky to be in a small crowd for an advance reading of her latest anthology, I learnt she also shares the rewards of her reclusiveness – astute life lessons. Quietly performing an untitled, unfinished poem for the first time, her words were abruptly fragile. I locked into her message, as if a truth I’d always known. I became mellow: perhaps only we remained, talking over life. After losing her amongst fans, she signed my copy of an older work. Others startled her with personal questions; I smiled, content to leave with her mystery.