Ink Whispers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The quaint but cluttered vintage bookstore is filled with tall walls of ancient volumes and stacks of books precariously balanced, making it hard to navigate down the aisles without fear of upsetting their delicate balance. I pause, breathing in the stale, sun-warmed dust of a thousand stories waiting to be explored. I feel in some mysterious way that I am absorbing the wisdom contained in all the books through my skin, without even opening them. The books wait to speak their words, their ink on papery leaves having survived even though centuries have passed. They invite me to participate in a conversation with the author. In a way, they are the legacy of an author’s thoughts, preserving ideas that would otherwise be as fleeting as a bird’s song. I pick up a book and open it, breathing in the magical dust of a story waiting to be read. within ink and lines, worlds take shape, characters breathe- pages whisper, invite us to invisible realms unleashing dazzling magic