Spiritually balanced fi clean and purge me
Mentally advanced fi always urge me
Read couple books and challenge the clergy
Read a couple psalms up inna the morning early
Could you be so kind then show me a sign
I’ve been searching and it’s so hard to find
Decent values with a decent wine
Decent jubee running it down the line
Maybe it’s my mind, maybe I’m blind
Maybe it’s the way that I’ve been spending my time
I’m still searching for a fine peace of mind
Decent jubee running it down the line
Why can’t people see the beauty that is right in front of their faces? This week has been absolutely beautiful. The foothills are green and beautiful and when the sun hits them they light up like peridots. I can never look at them without thinking of Ireland. Just beyond them the Sierra Nevada mountain range is covered with the snows of early spring. It’s breathtaking. The fields are covered with small yellow flowers. Soon the evenings will be filled with the heavenly scent of orange blossoms wafting from the thousands of orange fields that surround this small town. There is so much beauty here. Believe it or not I’m one of the few people who feel this way. Ask anyone around here and they’ll start to complain how this town is dirty, boring, and ugly. To those people I’d like to say this: Maybe you’re the one who is boring. If you can’t find the beauty in this land that surrounds us then you’re missing out.
I really enjoyed reading this article and others’ response to it because I like hearing about people’s relationship with literature. This is mine.
I am a girl who reads. Usually I find books at yard sales and thrift stores for twenty-five cents. I prefer to be economical but if I could afford it I’d spend a fortune at Borders. I love brand new books with shiny intriguing covers and never before turned pages.
I don’t get rid of books. They’re a part of me. I grew up inside those pages. I made trouble with Anne Shirley, sailed to the end of the world with Prince Caspian, and I lived on a deserted island with Robinson Crusoe. How could I let them go? I like to reread them over and over. I don’t sell my college textbooks either. I love learning so I keep my texts on religion, philosophy, and French because even though I didn’t read them while I was actually in the class I plan on getting around to them someday.
I love poetry. Finding a poem I love is like finding a pearl lying on the beach. Poems illuminate the truth. They lift my mind out of the dialogue of the everyday. Some people dismiss the idea of poetry as the way to a woman’s heart as outdated or lame. But if you ask me, nothing could be more romantic in this day and age of vapid tweets and shallow Facebook friends than a man who would quote poetry to a woman. If you quoted Lorca, Paz, or Shakespeare to me on a windy moonlit night I would probably marry you on the spot. So yes, I am a hopeless romantic but don’t you dare confuse that with “touchy-feely.” I don’t like clichés or “cute.” Kissing in the rain is unoriginal and unimaginative so don’t you dare try it.
A handful of books have made me cry. Those are the special ones. My first heartbreak was at sixteen when I read Gone With the Wind. When I finished the final words I threw the book across the room and burst into tears. “Why? Why? Why?” My brother thought this was hilarious so I retreated to my room to mourn the tragedy of Scarlett and Rhett in peace. Of course my reactions to books aren’t always so intense. Usually when I finish a good book I close it softly and gaze meaningfully at the cover for a minute, absorbing its essence. Then I set it back in its place on the shelf. We’ll miss each other but it won’t be too long before we see each other again.