My brown satchel bag was extremely light yesterday evening. The cap of my water bottle had fallen onto one of the city's many grimy streets after trying to juggle returning it to its place while still holding the Mutsu apple I had just cleaned. No cap. No water bottle to return to the bag. In to the garbage it went. The Mutsu apple went into my still smiling stomach (who knew a pulled pork sandwich and a brownie could keep a gal happy for so long. Ah, no, it was smiling from the breakfast that morning).
But the heaviest item that had not returned to its place strapped across my back was "The Thirteenth Tale." A lend from a dear friend and a book I could not remove from my hands even when confronted with some of the other gems I had recently procured or borrowed. Finished yesterday. My bag empty. No book to cradle my thoughts after work (so a walk of about three miles was made) and no book to catch my head on the late night ride home. But the book was there with me comfortably in pajamas looking longingly at the bed. I cracked the spine and turned to the first page of text and my eyes swooned. I lamented the absence of a highlighter and no amount of excitement at the first few paragraphs of this book could get me to walk downstairs to the corner market for one. I'll just start again today. Start from the beginning. Highlighter in tow.
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