Books. They brought me to corners of this world, much more to varied dimensions only pages, whether brown or crisp, can let fly a soul like mine. Needless to say, the intoxication is much deeper than time permits in devouring fiction or real worlds. The ride is unending. This experience is one I'd like another soul, younger than my reading years, to take on as well.
At this juncture, I'm beginning to see some eye-popping signs of Shekinah joining this addiction. I started to introduce books, booklets, and anything with pictures, colors, and words to her when she was 4 or 5 months. At 1 year and 3 months, she's not letting go of any book her hand could grab, even if at funny times, she gets to pull out what her tiny little hands could, from our shelves research books only teachers could appreciate.
Now, remembering those times when I lingered at second-hand bookstores unearthing dusty, crumpled books and bringing them home as though they're worth the African diamond's prize, makes me say it was all worth my allowances and splurges. The shelves will not be a lonely library of sort. There will be an addition to the club--not to mention, that my siblings have long gotten into browsing and enjoying some of the journeys stacked in the shelves all these years.
Ahh, those treasures! They might not last long. The pages may disintigrate with time. But not until my daughter gets to taste them all as well.
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