Tuesday, October 4, 2022

Why I Re-read


I re-read to savor the beauty of the words; the phrasing, the pacing, the choice of those words.

This is an excerpt from 


"Every house is haunted. Some are haunted in the traditional way: by spirits generally more mischievous than malevolent, who take delight in closing the open door, rocking the empty chair, or snuffing out the flaming candle, unfortunate souls who failed to squeeze enough enjoyment out of their paltry allotment of days to sufficiently satisfy their eternity. Most, however, are haunted by our own memories: bits of ourselves, individual and unique, left behind and lying dormant for decades but with the power to quicken and breathe the moment we step back inside. These personal spirits can live in the house of our childhood or the church where we married. They wait for us with the patience of angels, alert to the sound of our step, the certain sweetness of our perfume, the touch of our hand on the door. Like rainbows through beveled glass, they coalesce in the stillness, ethereal as a dream yet visible to our eyes only. We alone may catch glimpses of ourselves at long-forgotten ages, running down the hallways or sitting with a book at the window. We alone can see our parents as they once were, young and hale. Fleeting, hardly real, the sounds of our youth can return on a breeze—the music, the laughter, the tears. These spirits gather in the corners of once-familiar rooms to whisper and sing, a murmuration of memory meant for just one."

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