I decided to wait.
Four days.

Four days!
They felt like – at least – a week.
Impatiently waiting.

The van.
Rushing outside.
Drizzling rain.
The postman trying to push
the package in the mailbox.
Right on time.

An ordinary brown paper bag.
a new book.

Opening the bag.
The softest of covers.
Not silky.
Not cuddly.
Yet a gentle soft firmness.

That tangibility.
The anticipation of heading
into a new story,
a new way of thinking,
it is hard to beat.

Pulling the dust cover off.
Carefully turning the pages.
a first crack in the paper.
Later on to be
followed by dog ears
for pages not to be forgotten.
Sometimes a coffeestain.
A bigger crack.
Sleep won.
Time making it more beautiful.

My new book started great.
The introduction,
first words.
‘The art of sport.’
What’s not to love there.