In this time of peace, goodwill & cheer to all children, women and men – written this way to show loyalty to my reader demographic – spare a thought for our dear friend, The Book.
From a long line of clones, squashed tight in substandard living quarters with their man-made brothers and sisters, they can only dream of an airy bookshelf, resting beside a sparkling Christmas tree. With only their jackets for warmth in dusty, cold warehouses around the world, they sit and wait…for their time, their chance, to be all they can be. To deliver the word. To do what they were created to do…but not all achieve this idealistic happy ending.
Some are prized from their siblings and travel incredible distances over land and sea, only to find new homes where they are unwanted, unloved and unread. And when all the trimmings and tinsel are just a sparkly memory, and the fatty aroma of Turkey skin and butter has faded into the ether, they are left to forge new careers, as doorstops or table-leg proper-uppers. Others are transported with ageing strangers to live out their days in the window of a dusty old shop, waiting patiently to be re-homed like a rabid puppy; losing value and credibility and being fondled and slapped about with no loved one to defend them.
So spare a thought for The Book, this Yuletide.
By all means click on the door below to gain access to the orphanage, pick up an amber friend & give it purpose, allow it to fulfil its rightful destiny. Give it that new home it was born for.
A Book is not just for Christmas.
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