03 February 2011
the makings of a bibliophile.
she turns the cover and skies peel back, whole universes string together bright and unwrinkled.
a spread of small, determined fingers press the paper. inked glyphs rise and pulse into talking farm animals, a silly babysitter, a junie b kindergartner with a riot of personality.
she can read, and walls crash down at her glance. i'm giddy with the rumble of flying motorcycles and the glint of mallorn-treed woods in her reach, of a lifetime of storied scapes to wander.
but especially. and best of all. when dark settles soft near eight o'clock and she pulls me or her daddy to her bible. and she ushers us into the bubbling pools and the vineyards and once more the Word becomes flesh. this time for her.
she can read.
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for more imperfect prose, pop on in at emily's.
ps don't forget to drop your name in for a handmade softie doll. (i'm loving hearing about your childhood besties.) entries close tonight!