The Art of Reading

I find there is an art to reading. It begins with the contemplation of what you most feel like imaging. Perhaps a historical of sweet love? Or more thriller? Am I in the mood for a sci-fi adventure or perhaps an old favourite?

Then comes selection of the location. Much like organising a  party, you scope your options and choices. Perhaps today I will laze outside on a picnic blanket in the sun. If it’s cold and rainy, my giant hand seat with the soft throw will suit me quite well.

Then comes the dress code. It is cold today, but in the sun it is quite lovely. Yoga pants, 3/4 sleeve top and a light pull over should I feel the brisk wind. (And always a pair of warm socks). Clothes that are comfortable and climate appropriate.

Nothing should distract me from my reading pleasure.  A good book is a treat that should be enjoyed with the same wholehearted preparation as say an anniversary or a vacation. Why? Because these people who read find attraction in the escape. For a few hours we live other lives. We are seduced by the word. Our imagination is gorged by the stimulus.

Every word I read is a new description I can envision. My idea of the hero may differ dramatically to yours, but we love him not for our vision of him, but for the words he speaks and the emotions he induces. I may be the heroine or may be the benevolent spirit that watches scenes play out, but either way I am invested in this story.

I paint landscapes in my head. I build cities and venues. I am an architect and a builder. I am a painter and interior designer. I am both leader and follower as these characters take me on their journey.

And when I return from my reading cocoon to find hours past and things much the same. I am comforted to know that I have tried once again to refine my art.