Today some books arrived in the mail. It’s rare that any acquisition can make me happier than a stack of books. Nothing more satisfying as slowly turning pages.
Books are my friends. Silent friends that give me a puzzle to solve, a romance to follow, a suspenseful novel to figure out.
A Book In My Hand:
I love the feel of books, the turning of pages.
So many pages I’ve turned in my life. And so many chapters I’ve experienced.
When I was a child, I spent a lot of time in the small town library. It truly was heaven on earth to me.
It wasn’t a big building, just a little brick square under a copse of trees. But to me it held exotic travels and meaningful characters and places I could scarcely imagine.
I regularly checked out all the books I was allowed and read voraciously. Still do.
Books are always a welcome gift or a borrowed treat. I like to trade books with my daughter. We tend to like the same kind of books. Thrillers and women’s fiction are at the top of our list.
On My Bookshelves:
Gazing at the bookshelves that hold my books, I don’t quite understand the fad of turning the spines inward. The book spines give me the name of the book and the author. I like to be reminded of what I have read. What I hope next to read.
I usually read in bed at night with the pupsters tucked alongside, snoozing.
I relish getting to know and understand the characters and learning about and finding new authors. It is time well spent and very relaxing for me.
As a child, there were no books or magazines in our home. I’m not sure why that was. But now I cherish my books. I cherish my time sitting in bed, peacefully turning the pages.
As I turn the pages of my life.