I remember visiting a large book store a few years ago, with my bouncing little baby, and being delighted in all the wonderful books in the children's section. I remember the smell, the sights, the feel of all those enticing books, the soft cushions and oversized story book characters. Hundreds of books were just waiting for you to pick them up and go on a journey far, far away.
Soon after we were joined by a grandmother and her two grandchildren, equally delighted in all the engaging sights and tales. Picking up books, turning the pages, smiling at what lay within. These boys were so engaged...until the grandmother took the book from the child's eager grasp saying loudly, 'You can't have that book. It's got words in it and you can't read.'
While the book evidently had them, I was lost for them.
I felt so terribly sad for this little boy, even more so I felt sad for this woman. What were the experiences with books like in her lifetime that brought her to that point in time?
Words...if only everyone could fill the bath with them and sink down into their depths to enjoy their sweet, warm caress.