animal dreams

every once in a while, i’ll find myself in a really fantastic reading mood — a deeply gentle frame of mind, in which i effortlessly tuck myself into a good fat book and measure the passage of time in page turns (instead of commercial breaks). it is a rare space, and it’s lovely while it lasts.
this week, i got a shiny new toy, a hand-me-down kindle, and the first thing i did was troll through our library’s e-catalog for something delicious to read. i was hunting for something addictive and popular like the buzzworthy gone girl, but found myself downloading barbara kingsolver’s animal dreams instead.
i can’t remember exactly when i first read it, but i know it was ages ago. far enough back that a different breed of sadness was seated in my throat, a loneliness i, most mercifully, have not known since. so i don’t remember the plot points, but i do remember it for the way it met me there in my freshly aching desolation, mirrored it, and then wrote me an ending.
times are different now. i can sit here in this different house, with its different voices and new history, and think about that stale and hollow time as if it was someone i used to know. how lucky i am that this is my time lapse moment… to flick open an old book, live in the swell of memory, and realize how good things have become.