Life for Lola

Just picked up two big boxes of books from my Wonderful Mother's house. She has housed them for me for the last three years and I had forgotton all about them. I had a quick flick through and was struck firstly by delight at their rememberance and two by what jolly good taste I have in hardbacks. Ofcourse I now have to dash out and by a bookshelf for them but I don't mind. Books are wonderful, they sit there un-read whilst the wind blows, the sun shines and rain falls, months come and go, years drift by then they are picked up and are as fresh as a daisy. I wonder that, if they know no one is looking, the words scramble around the page and the frowns on people straighten?

I think it's the last installment of any upheaval in one's life when you get stuff back from storage. The dust finally settles.