When it's cold outisde, I am smothered by longings of reading books. I feather my nest into the couch, bring on a cup of tea and plummet into reading. But not totally. I remain in a somewhat state of alert. And that is because I always sit facing the window. It is it that I glance through when lines from a book make me wonder. Glacing through the window, my racing feelings smooth over and settle down like woven on an embroidery frame. And this is how I am not totally loose from the world and I can find the strength to let go of the book.
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