UNTO my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.
As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.
It may be wilderness without,
Far feet of failing men,
But holiday excludes the night,
And it is bells within.~emily dickinson
I thank these kinsmen of the shelf;
Their countenances bland
Enamour in prospective,
And satisfy, obtained.
Lately I’ve felt at the far end of one very long, very tired day. The weird thing is that I haven’t been seeking solace in books, as I usually do. I haven’t read a book in months. This feels deeply out of character–I keep wondering what’s wrong with me. It’s not that I don’t have a few minutes at the end of most days. It’s not necessarily that I’m too tired to read. I just haven’t felt the need to, the compulsion I normally feel, and I can’t figure this out.
Maybe I don’t need to figure it out. This is, after all, just one of many seasons. My kinsmen of the shelf will be there waiting when the time comes round again.
The Emily Project 