It's been ages since I've posted my little letters to nowhere, and much has changed. But we won't talk about that today. It seems the best way to get back into things is to dive right in, so here it goes.
I like to reread things, in fact I can revisit any story I love about a thousand times without getting tired of it. I'm pretty sure my mom regret to the this day showing me the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice: five hours of sweet bliss that I watched about once a month when I was ten.
I like to revisit the stories that are special to me, particularly those from my childhood. And since I wanted to be Laura Ingalls when I was little, it's not surprising that I'm rather attached to her Little House series.
I revisit these books every year, and the glue of their paperback bindings have slowly come apart until each must be replaced. In turn the older ones are moved to a different shelf, to be handled delicately and cherished as constant reminders of well-loved books. And I buy a new copy, crack a brand new spine, and look forward to the day when this one too bears the mark that comes with love.
Usually sometime as the weather turns cold
and the wind starts to slip through my sweaters I find myself seeking
warmth in a lonely log house in the forests of Wisconsin. Because it's true what Laura says: "Their shadowy outlines drew her with the lure of far places. They were the essence of a dream."
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