Today the light was so erratic that the heather’s tones were elusive…And so the promise of colour to come was part of what I was seeing; and yet this rough carpet seemed to swallow light. The dark heather, with its dark roots, and beneath the dark roots the dark earth. Even the footpath puddles were black. Strung across a fence were seven scraps of brightly coloured cloth — these were Tibetan prayer flags, sanctifying the peaty air. The colour, against the moor, was pungent.
William Atkins from The Moor: A journey into the English wilderness
The perfect holiday for a lifelong reader is one with a stack of books and few distractions. Retiring after three decades as a bookseller, I look forward to reading my way through the stacks and shelves and lists of books waiting for me.
This blog will be something of a grab bag or commonplace book of reviews, quotations, notes on the history of books, the contemporary book trade, and anything connected with books and language. Reading is a great pleasure. Thinking and talking about books multiplies and intensifies that pleasure.
View all posts by abookwomansholiday