Surprisingly dull with grey heavy cloud and grey heavy light this campervan morning, although the temperature remains relatively warm. There is the vaguest feeling of dampness in the air, which occasionally touches skin. The merest of winds ripples through tress and hedges. It feels indeterminate this morning, not sure which way the day will spill. Monday, so the hurly burly of the commencement of the week is well underway, despite the relatively early hour. The rattle of distant rail carriages and the hum of the far off motorway traffic in the air. Nature appears relatively obscured, no big birds that I can see, though their call can still be heard, the usual crows and gulls in the distance, along with a morning cockerel. My reading journey with Alberto Manguel continues apace through a slow Sunday. He writes :
“ If every library is in some sense a reflection of its readers, it is also an image of that which we are not, and cannot be.”
I cast my eyes over my bookshelves and wonder as to what my small collection of books reflects about me and where I have been. They define elements of myself. Books on music, band and drummer biographies, drumming, drumming music, performance, Africa, the Caribbean, travel, Eastern Philosophy, religion and spirituality, history, toil and struggle across the centuries, writing, writers and reading. The shelves crammed with books on nature, other peoples journeys, psychology and counselling. My travel section greatly enhanced as I search for journeys to undertake. I also ponder what it says about me, that that I am not and what I cannot be. The parts of me that are nourished by the shelves and those that remain quite deliberately to wither, once again what does that say about me. Be gentle with yourselves, there’s a long week ahead. Lovely days people.
“ One book calls to another unexpectedly, creating alliances across different cultures and centuries.” Alberto Manguel.
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