Last Saturday I placed an order for a book, the traditional type where words are designed in ink and not injected with pixels, where pages are born out of nature and not laid out on a cold slab of screen.
I ordered a book, not the sort with a flimsy front and bendable back, but of the hard cover type, with a solid spine that will stand it proudly erect on my shelf.
So I placed an order for a book, a reference work intriguingly entitled “Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within” by Natalie Goldberg. It arrived today, into hands that fingered its texture while newness and knowledge wafted to an expectant nose.
The order for the book has been fulfilled; the eyes await their turn.