Pages

Sometimes

I get lost.

I tell my students all the time that I’m a reader

And it’s true.

I’m not making up tales out of school.

But I’m not always quite the type of reader I ask my kids to be.

And they always sniff out disingenuity.

They are relentless.

The truth is, I read on my phone. Constantly.

Small snippets of info, byte-sized chunks, bits and bobs from the hive mind.

I follow threads, weave roads, circumnavigate the world

wide

web

It’s nonfiction, rarely the fiction chapter books I encourage these young humans to read every day.

It’s almost as though I’ve been programmed

Altered, somehow.

Today

is different, though.

Today, I’m caught up in Echo, a lovely tale woven through time, crowded in magic, entrancing with music. And I am swept.

And maybe it’s old fashioned, but there’s something that feels more wholesome, precious,

better for my brain

about digging into an actual book,

with actual pages.

While I read, I get distracted, still follow a thought, lost in my personal stuff

But the smell of the paper and the sound of the page turning always

Brings me back home.