Categories
A Blog a Day in May

It’s Not A Problem

If you’re a reader, you are about to read a blog post which will echo through the pits of your soul. It’s not a problem, we all know this. But whenever us readers are faced with this sort of conundrum, there is definite…friction would be the best way to put it, in my mind.

Those of you who’ve been reading my blog for a while will already know that I am blowing this issue (the one I’m about to tell you about) up to be something it absolutely is not, creating drama where none is needed, creating blockage when there probably is a clear path that I just can’t see yet.

But the thing is: this feels big. Like a pickle. And when something feels like a pickle to me, I will set my brain to work until it has come up with a logical solution that will bring me peace and clarity and a bin (you know, a bin to throw the pickle into.)

What is the pickle, you ask? Books, that’s what. I’ve started reading three books that are wonderful…and I’ve started them all at the same time. The pickle is this, and the pickle is also the fact that I’ll not finish any of them at this rate.

I won’t go into the details about each book but I will say that each is illuminating, genuine, inspiring, and each has a very clear reason to be read by a bookish dreamer named Brooke at this point in her life.

So.

How do I choose which one to plow on with? Surely it’s an essential question, like asking myself: should I brush my teeth, have a shower, sleep, eat? You’re laughing aren’t you. You’re laughing because you’ve been here before, but currently you’re not so it’s kind of like you’re looking back upon a distant nightmare set in a far-off land.

But for me, it’s here. It’s now. And I’ve got to DO something, I’ve got to get TOUGH.

I’ve got to put two of the books away. When it comes down to it, that’s just what I’ve got to do, isn’t it? One at a time. I will not find un-friction until I make a choice, and the time has come for me to make it—to choose the apple, the orange or the pear.

What a bookishly frantic conundrum. What a pickle of the totally me kind.

woman lying on bed holding book
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

 

 

 

Categories
Twelve Days of Christmas

Tonight

On the sixth day of Christmas, I craved a feeling.

A specific feeling, really.

I craved a couch. And a book. And me.

All of us rolled up together,

where nothing and no one could find us.

photo of woman sitting near the christmas tree
Photo by NastyaSensei Sens on Pexels.com

It’s not like I wanted to escape the day

or the responsibilities that lay before me.

I just wanted to read.

I wanted to remember the warmth—

snuggling on the couch with a book

and a lovely new imaginary friend (or two.)

christmas cold friends frostyPhoto by Pixabay on Pexels.com

There’s nothing quite like that feeling.

The touch of a book, the smell.

The firecrackers that tickle the skin,

melting me—word by delectable word.

Thank goodness there’s tonight.

I think I’ll read, tonight.

woman wearing white dress reading book
Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

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Categories
Books

Falling In Love By Lamplight

I can’t remember the moment I fell in love with books.

But I know it was by lamplight.

A warm orange flush against the wall.

The shadow of a Mum, and a girl, and a book, and a bed.

A memory for all the senses.

A craving for the comfort of night.

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Are you there with me?

Mum’s soft voice, her words scattering into the twilight.

Like fireflies.

Waves, fizzing onto custard sand.

Winged chairs, lifting into the setting sun.

I feel it like I feel yesterday, that love.

That magic.

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Little girl me sped through the days, just to meet the night again.

Just so the story could go on.

Nothing’s changed, not really.

Except maybe the shadows on the wall.

The little girl I used to be: somewhere along the line, her shadow twisted and popped.

And grew.

The lamp lit voice: it’s not Mum’s, anymore.

It’s mine.

Colouring in the hearts of my own babies.

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I can’t remember the moment I fell in love with books.

And maybe the when doesn’t matter.

Maybe the why doesn’t matter, either.

It’s the who and the what and the how that will never leave me.

The lamplight.

The two shadows, big and small.

It’s the truest story I know.

And it’s all about how I fell in love… for the very first time.

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