“Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture storybooks.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture storybooks?”
Robert Louis Stevenson
So many ugly images. They seem to saturate our everyday. The news can be relentless. Winter weather too conspires against us, weighing spirits down.
But then there are picture-books. Read out loud. Together. For what more can we ask? What better can we do?
Days and evenings come and go. So much to do, and so hard to find the time. Childhood—precious childhood!–passing by.
There is yet time, time for us to step out-of-time; to rest in what really matters. The reality of story books.
R.L Stevenson (1850-1894) is the great Scottish author of Treasure Island, Kidnapped, A Child’s Garden of Verses, and other classics.
Image by Swedish author and illustrator Elsa Beskow
Originally posted at Bacon from Acorns