Reading is a good friend, whether the wind blows good or ill. There is not a single day it does not yield knowledge of interest, insights of value, moments of surprise, shocks of recognition and even visions of splendour. Reading graces, supplements, enhances and reinforces living.
I catch a glimpse of an old woman in Camp Street. She is bent and poorly dressed and walks slowly. She comes to a stone bench and sits down with an obvious sigh. She slowly unties a cloth bundle she has with her. It holds a number of things including a small brown paper parcel from which she takes a piece of bread. She looks at the bread carefully almost from all sides, and then begins to eat slow mouthfuls. She gazes into some far distance or some distant past as she eats. Perhaps the sigh when she sat down was a sigh of contentment. One of William Carlos Williams’s simple, artless poems comes into my mind.
