A Poet's Journal: April 30th, 2015
It is easy to think that books are worthy for the knowledge they impart, but there is something even greater. The moment we realize that they have been with us for many years, hidden in the background, a silent companion to our inward movements, and in one instant come forth to charm us or engage us in an old friendship, it is right then, the moment of that first meeting, that we hold in highest regard. We know not of our joys or our misgivings until they find unique expression; in books there is a place for our troubles, and a word for our vision. It helps us look back at the places we've been and whom we've seen, giving perspective, never harsh or unneeded, but always with the glow of a distant light and an unerring respect. And finally, when the book no longer serves its purpose, but has introduced us to something much deeper within ourselves, we can shrug off and get rid of our attachment, and turn to what remains unwritten.
Douglas Thornton
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