A bright pink book (you can think differently) sits beside me with its pages turned at the corners, the last fold a reminder of where I left off. I found this book on the odd chance, at a charity shop. My friend and I were on the search for stacks of magazines to cut out for a visual board. Our search for publications was unsuccessful, however, I did discover this little gem amongst all the hoard of books. It’s amazing what you can pick up when you look with an open mind. Priced at only a pound this was definitely a bargain, one that will be passed on.
Books and I have a really special relationship. We go way back to when I was a child before I could even read or make sense of words. I’d look over pages of illustrations and make up my own stories. My past collection of books is nothing compared to what I own today. I have a mini library sprawling out of my bedroom. Almost every shelf, draw and now corners of my floor are neatly decorated with books.
I don’t own a kindle, unsure if I ever will. I’m too old fashioned and love the way a traditional book (paperback or hardback) feels in my hands, conscious of the weight. The inimitable excitement of all is the opening and closing of a book when all my senses come alive, ready to unveil treasures hidden within the pages. Books are collectable souvenirs from my journey through life. They’re reminders of everything I’ve learned.
This isn’t a round-up of all the books I’ve brought over the past few months, but the two that I’ve recently completed and enjoyed reading.