Old Books

I love funky old bookstores. Time seems to stand still once you enter. It is almost like stepping through a portal into another realm. I yearn to be transported and inspired.

As I step through the heavy front door and hear it close behind me. The street noise comes to an abrupt end. 

And just like that, no more cars honking as they whiz by, loud footsteps, or chattering voices. 

The smoky, sweet, and sharp scent of aging paper and ink fills the air. 

I navigate the aisles, a steaming cup of jasmine green tea in my hand, like a captain at sea, searching for the perfect book to spark my imagination and revitalize my soul. 

I run my fingers along leather spines and linen covers. Trace the gilded cover font and page edges. 

Oh, what interesting information you can gain from a book that costs only $1.50. 

Lost, hidden gems of knowledge. 

I pull one from a faded, scratched wooden shelf and plop down in an overstuffed chair. 

I turn to the first page and let the story take me away…