There’s something comforting in the smell
of old books.
A cacophony of life surrounding,
In one small breath, an upturned
book on one’s lap,
an instant transportation to a
New and wondrous land.
Alone or with companions, always
a grand adventure to be had.
In Celebrations, great and small,
equal joys to be found
in all the infinite tragedies.
There’s no story that could be told
unworthy of such a worship
found in the simple pleasure
of a quiet day.