The Bookworm

2 Nov

She would sit for hours watching her father read. Gazing as the great panorama of life silently crossed his face.  The black spots on the page like little matches that burst into flame in his eyes.

She marveled at how his eyes would jump across the page in unison like trained bunnies. Every so often he would pause to take a sip of tea from a mug with his name on it.  Other times he would chuckle for a moment or he would cluck his tongue in dismay.

 Every once in awhile he would look up, smile dreamily and smooth her hair back. Then he would plunge back into his reading.

There they would remain for hours surrounded by the soft warmth of countless volumes as the day faded away like the strains of a once popular song.

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