she loved books. old books. seventy plus year old book. for her it is a treasure. in it are words. illustrations. a story. a writer. and stories of the owner of the book. this book was handed down to her by a friend. a friend who’s aunt loved books. she wonder how many have owned the book. read this book. touched and embraced this book. she held it. wondering. wandering. thinking of the stories, experiences of the past readers, owners of this book. with this book.
one night she leafed through its pages. she’s not reading it. no plan of reading it. instead she put out a pen, a brush and paint and started painting on the book’s pages. it felt right. It felt good. it was intuitive. it was calling to her.
she adored the book. it’s pages. it’s letters. it’s rustic feel. it’s vintage truth.
Tonight as I leafed through the pages of an old book that was handed down to me, I saw a treasure. It’s a wild flower! Tucked in between these beautiful old book pages. I can’t help but wonder about that someone, who one day, picked a wildflower and pressed it in this book. I wonder when. I wonder how she felt. Did she feel that fluttering feeling I had when I saw this pressed flower? Did she ever thought of surprising someone one day and find this beauty? Or she just did what her heart led her to do? She followed her bliss that is all about flowers. Wow. So there’s someone just like me, somewhere out there, who found bliss with the wild flowers, the botanicals. Someone who loves keeping lovely treasures in the heart of a book. Someday I’m going to meet her. And yes I will.