Books are a gift, a glittering present to one's self.
Treasures, borne from the soul of another, spill out into well-shaped words, resting naked and ever so vulnerable on smooth paper.
Visually caressing the cover and bindings, the bookworm quivers in anticipation.
With enormous tactile pleasure, sensitive fingers eagerly smooth back the cover, inhaling the scent of creativity, at once both familiar and comforting.
Oh, the world rushes on...who cares? Politicians and pundits yammer on to audiences unknown...tomorrow, I'll listen.
Curled up for now in a favorite place, a purring Smokey on my lap, I am comfy and settled.
Ahhh, such delight...my life-long pleasure: just me, my cat and a brand new book!
