Wednesday, April 12, 2017
From the age of five, I have come home from the library each week with an armful of books. As a child, I read to escape, to enter a world better than the one I lived in, a world of unicorns and magic, princes and princesses, cottages with white picket fences, Heathcliff and Catherine and their undying love. I read to feed my dreams. Through young adult years, I read seeking a blueprint on how to live, how to escape the pain and arrive at the elusive life I longed for, which can only be reached by living. In my aging years, I moved from fiction to stories from real life, for our lives are more fascinating and unbelievable than anything a writer can make up. I read stories that inspire, tales of not just survival, but transcendence of difficult or impossible circumstances with a modicum of grace. I read to visit all the places, make all the journeys I never will make in real life. Down all the years, week after week, how I love coming home with an armload of books.
Small child, young woman,
crone reading fast as light dims ~
books her constant friend
for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Books