Expect a most agreeable letter, for not being overburdened with subject (having nothing at all to say), there shall be no
check to my genius from beginning to end.
--Jane Austen
how should another know your mind?
And there was a beautiful view
But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island
Was saying: Look at me! Look at me!
--Laurie Anderson
will he discern what quickens you?
Sunday, April 25, 2010 @ 1:58 AM
A Time for Courage: The Suffragette Diary of Kathleen Bowen
Kathryn Lasky
It is so peaceful here in the garden. I got down on my knees and looked very closely at the rows we had planted. I see some tiny specks of green where we sowed the radish seeds. Little tiny roundish leaves. If fairies had fingernails they would be no bigger than these leaves. I should be happy, so why am I sitting in this garden crying?
I'm not entirely sure of why it suddenly occurred to me to post this. This was one of my favourite books back in primary school, so perhaps the choice of excerpt is not altogether unexpected, but it just stirs in me a very fond nostalgia for reading and for books in general. I realise I haven't devoured a new book (a book! with spine and pages), per se. I've mostly been reading poems online, which loses out somewhat to an actual book with pages to flip, smooth, and in some instances, tear.
The founder of the Garfield Plush Program, Jim Davis, says that the 'tactile relationship we form with a plush doll spawns an affection that can't be duplicated, or repeated'. I suppose it's the same way with me and my tomes and volumes.