I caught a glimpse of her today,

the girl curled by the fire with a book,

lost in a far away story,

preferring the fireside to the outside,

even though it was summer,

and the sun was shining,

the cool day required the fire to be lit,

but it wasn’t the fire that kept her there,

it was the story, the unfolding tale of a life

not her own,

and yet somehow she had become a part of it,

and it a part of her,

so much so that almost fifty years later,

she remembers the story, dancers and New York skylines,

the dustjacket pinks and greys…

+

and here she is,

almost fifty years later,

lost in a book,

a story far away has enthralled her,

she can almost smell the swamps

and feel the breeze,

this book too is becoming part of me…

+

the memory caused a smile,

this book has a cover of pinks and greys,

and my capacity to be lost in a story

not my own

hasn’t dimmed…

+

A book can be a friend…