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Reading Ruth Bidgood

Do you know that feeling?

The one when it’s a rainy afternoon

and you open a book you’ve never read before

with few expectations,

recalling all those misguided infatuations

And blatant seductions in the past–

by wily books dressed to draw you in—

Thick paper and quirky quotes

lovely art, reviews that make you hope

despite many, many disappointments.

Then, this time, you stumble over someone

ready to be in love with the world,

and discover musty trunks full of old diaries and tattered maps

and everywhere, on every page she writes of the outdoors—-

Misty rain, thick forest, a fog rising

from the fields–

and tucked beneath the mountains,

tiny stone cottages with thatched roofs,

Wild roses and mugs of strong tea.

You sigh and think—

Oh, this book will be delicious.

Thank you, you breathe, to the god of books

who, capricious and irresistible,

tumbles treasures into a reader’s hands

a few times in every life.

You know that feeling?

I found it today.  

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