The book of the summer

This morning, it took much too long to drag my sluggish body up the stairs to take a shower.  Why?

a.) Jess, my mom, and Breanna are all out of town this weekend. I knew nobody would call, so I wouldn't have to explain my pajamas and lack of lavations. I rested.

b.) I started reading Gail Tsukiyama's The Samurai's Garden. I haven't been impressed with any of the books I've read this summer, until now. Oh my. The quietness of the novel speaks to my heart. She writes, "It's harder than I imagined to be alone. I suppose I might get used to it, like an empty canvas you slowly begin to fill" (13) and "But here in Tarumi it's different. Even the light is revealing; you can't miss the smallest nuance, the slightest sound. It's as if the world were concentrated into just these small rooms. I wonder if it appears the same to him" (20) and "Matsu's garden whispers to you, never shouts; it leads you down a path hoping for more as if everything is seen, yet hidden. There's a quiet beauty here I only hope I can capture on canvas" (31).

I've only just begun, but I think I'm going to love it. As I left Mrs. Bailey's house after book club on Thursday, she said, "If you haven't read this book, I'm sending it home with you." I didn't want it because I have too many other books on my agenda, but she knew that I needed this one right now. 

I could probably finish it today, but I don't want to. I'm going to savor the language.