Bookish memories

Yesterday's badness preyed on my mind in bed, and I woke ridiculously early from fitful sleep. Downstairs nursing a coffee I spotted the morning sun streaming in through the blinds and hitting off the old set of Dickens novels in one of the alcove cabinets. I rushed to set up the camera on the tripod, praying that the sun wouldn't go in before I recorded the moment. So, two days in a row, an early-morning photo has ended up as blip of the day.

These books have a rather special memory attached to them. Many many years ago, my dad was contacted out of the blue by an old school chum, now living in the UK, who was anxious to re-establish contact. He came over to visit us while we still lived down in the rural Irish midlands, and kept in touch for a few years. On one of his visits he brought over this set of Dickens. I dnn't remember why he did this -- whether he and my dad shared a love of Dickens or whether the books originally belonged to my dad -- but I always think of him and my dad whenever I see the books. The memory and the morning sunshine combined to lift my spirits from yesterday''s depths.

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