Love and Books: Sometimes you read a book and it captures you. You swim in the words and stroke your hands through their waters, amazed at the phosphoresscence. Or you are entranced by the characters and the fireflies of their lives as they wander through the plot. Other times you get lost, or you find yourself having read the same page over and over and over, not once having really "gotten" what was intended to be gotten. Sometmies there is little going on to keep your attention. Some plotline is there, but pulsing like a tiny vein just under the surface. Hard to find, but carrying life-force nonetheless. Love is like that sometimes. The quiet of it can be disconcerting, seemingly boring, but crucial to the forward motion of life anyway. Even little breezes make feathers float and bubbles gambol. Remember, when it is still therein is something simple. The mere binding of words and the pleasure of turning pages in the morning, the weight of the binding, the crisp edges of substance are enough. Love is like that. Sometimes.