Currently listening to: Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe"
Current weather conditions: slightly overcast, chilly, bluh.
Just the other day, I was at a barbeque at our friends' house, and they decided to let out their pet rabbit.
There we sat in the back garden, sipping some nice cool summer wine, er, spring wine, and the seven o'clock sun felt like a warm bath. The little rabbit hopped out of her hutch onto the patio, and flopped around, quite unselfconsciously, sniffing here and there.
The barbeque grill smoked. The wine glasses sweated.
In and out of conversation I went, in my sort of after-work haze, when the sight of the single rabbit bouncing across the grass triggered something in me. Suddenly I thought the word: Vilthuril. Then primroses. Fiver. Frith. Massacre. "Acts of injustice done, between the setting and the rising sun, in history lie like bones, each one."
If you haven't read it yet... you should.
Now, watching the rabbit as she settled into her favorite spot in the yard, I wondered if she was thinking about other rabbits, or enjoying the freedom, or if she was happy she's safe.
A good, timeless book does that to you: it makes you see the world differently, and follows you around, and revisits you in the single image that embodies the entire story. Like a rabbit taking in the sun on soft grass. A good story will be there with you always. It pops up again ten or thirteen or twenty-five years later.
May you find a book that settles in your heart like that, that you can take anywhere.
Happy Saturday, all.