By my bed I have a ladder of books, my own stairway to heaven, that lifts me up and blows my mind on a daily basis.
In this pile, some books keep changing, they will be read once and be transferred on, we will probably never meet again or miss each other. Others are permanent tenants that has been invited to stay, they travel only to my library and back as I seek for inspiration or search a rememberable sentence. My books are alive, I am folding their corners, writing notes for me to remember or marking important lines in them.
In this tall building the neighbors have nothing in common but my love for them – “David Hockney paints the Stage”, who joined the pile after I read an article in ELLE Decor about an exhivbition of his iPad drawings, lives happily next to Meir Shalev’s “My wild garden“ and they seem to get along well. New Yorker issues to inspire my illustration career are in good relations with “Who do you think you are” by Alice Munro and “Those who leave and those who stay” by Elena Ferrante.
Every day I go there, and my stairway transforms by the week. Its colors change through imaginary private seasons, the content changes, books come and go, but it is always enchanting to me, an endless love that doesn’t fade. In the morning silence – just me, my coffee and my books.