Oh, For A Book!

I used to have a copy of John Wilson's poem (below) about reading books, tacked to a corkboard above my desk. I worked in a library for decades--surrounded by books--but we were only able to read them on break. Of course, I wrote during most of my breaks.

When I retired I took down the scrap of graph paper and brought it home, tucked it somewhere and forgot about it. 

I think I forgot about the poem, first because my reading time was no longer limited and, second, because I used the extra time to write rather than read.

I still imagine sitting on one of those circular wooden benches people build around the base of a shade tree, immersed in a tale so fascinating I hear only the sounds described by the author.

Stopping only when soft sunset slips through the lowest leaves and reminds me I'm not walking along that village path minutes before dawn.

"Looking up a Tree" (photograph of a tree in Lewes, Delaware)

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"Oh for a book and a shady nook,

either in a door or out;

with the green leaves whispering overhead,

or the street cries all about.

Where I may read all at my ease,

from both the new and old;

for a jolly good book whereon to look,

is better to me than gold."

by John Wilson

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Have I forgotten how to read for hours, sometimes all day long, the way I used to when I was a child and still in school? Very possibly.

I just found this at my old blog,
"…Of course, I haven't read it yet. Have I mentioned that I've been having trouble making myself read --for enjoyment --for a very long time now? I may need to blog about that."     --             Scribblings, May 29, 2009 

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