Image from here.
Is there anything better than wandering round a bookshop? I could quite happily spend my entire life in bookshops…as long as someone brought me food on a fairly regular basis.
I love the atmosphere of hushed appreciation, created by the small gatherings of book lovers, quietly browsing the shelves. The smell. The rainbow of colours spread across the walls and tables. All those inviting covers, waiting to be opened. People meandering through the stacks, running gentle fingers along the spines, occasionally pulling a book from the shelf to read the back or flip through the pages.
If I had even a smidgen less self control I would just pull out a pile of books that took my fancy, plonk myself down on the floor in the middle of the shop, and plunge straight into the vast universes waiting within the pages. It takes a great exercise of will to not indulge this little compulsion. If I did I would probably never leave.
I am alternately awed, excited and devastated by how many books there are. Awed and excited because how many wonderful stories and people and places have I yet to discover? Devastated because I know I will never discover them all…but that won’t stop me trying!