Taking one book from the shelf

I counted once. Four hundred and twelve books. Most of them I read once and liked. A handful I read every year.

The handful live on the second shelf, a bit worn, with cracked spines. When I am ill or sad or tired I reach for one without looking.

Why rereading

You know how it ends. That is the point. Some days I don't need surprises. I need a voice I trust to tell me a story I already love.