A book is a good friend.
Let’s you relax, in its wondrous world of words.
Pushes away the mundane.
Like a secret garden
it conjures up memories, long forgotten,
images of escape.
Tender longings for sweet summer days,
white out winter’s, stormy nights;
forgotten words in subtle harmony find their way into your inner self. Ts
Qui scribit bis legit. He who writes reads twice.
© Ts
Photo/ Yellow Brugmansia my garden/ Text
Ah, the beauty of a book, hard in your hands, the cover worn, the pages often turned, a comfort, an old and dear friend, a joy, an escape . . . there is nothing like it.
ReplyDeleteI completely agree! I just read The Knot, about Henry Lyte who has translated the first Herbals into the English Language, for all whom love gardens and plants. It is beautifully written by Jane Borodale. Now, I am reading The Bookman's Tale by Charlie Lovett, for all bibliophiles!
ReplyDeleteGood to hear from you, Arija.
True words but that is a gorgeous bloom!
ReplyDeleteanyjazz, thank you for your comment. Yes, those are the ballerinas in my garden. To see the tree,its gorgeous bells swaying slightly in the wind is magic.
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