A Desk Of One’s Own

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Little reminders of your cluttered soul perched atop your very own place. Not a whole room, just a spot.

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Sheaffer Skrip Ink given a comfy home in an old jar and the well-worn nib wait for snowy days when all there is to do is write.

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For quick notes jotted when time is short inky pens do the trick.

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Coffee, the trusted stimulator.

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Tucked away notes.

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And the words of others sitting close by.

These things and the sounds outside the door–a rooster crowing, a dog scratching its ear and impatient for a walk and the muffled talk of family making music of their own–these things make books.

http://historicalnovelsociety.org/reviews/the-house-on-tenafly-road/