I love the old classics. Not the traditional greek or Canterbury Tales. No, Agatha Christie, Dorothy Gilman and old Xanth fantasy. Those books that I read a young girl who eagerly devoured them from cover to cover.
The winter is leaving and outside I hear bursts of song birds. The air is still cold and the snow hasn't quite left yet. Here in NE Ohio we have been known to have snow into April. I am not sad about the snow leaving. I am sad about the winter leaving though.
When the sky is gray with bitter cold winds and large snow flakes, I read. Something in me reaches for those tried and true classics that feel like a warm sweater. I dip in and force myself to slow down so I can read each and every word. I slowly turn the pages as I greet each sentence like an old friend.
Of course I know the plot, characters and dialogue by heart. But I still do it anyway. The comfort of those books keeps the depressing gray skies from bringing in too much doom and gloom. Those books are old friends that I keep on the shelves. We visit every winter and spend many a peaceful time together.
Soon warmer weather will be here for good. Then I will be outside, planting flowers, taking walks, riding bikes and reading new books. Spring and summer are perfect for new friends.
Winter is perfect for the old.