Sometimes, just to remember where I'm coming from, I like to look over my old articles...and then it hits me: what is today wasn't yesterday, but maybe it will be tomorrow. One thing though remains constant: I love books. Be it romance, fantasy, science, history or science-fiction, I love them all; and read all kind of crazy stuff.
However, there is a constant love out there, transparent all the time: the love for children books. I loved them since my infancy, I will worship them until the day I'll close my eyes forever. These books were the gates that opened my eyes to the world, made me understand that reading could take me places I couldn't even dream otherwise.
There was nothing quite like a new storybook, received as a gift from my parents, I would stare at it for hours, gently touch it, read it over and over again. When I'll have my own kinds I will gift them books, and secretly watch their reaction... if they will react as I once did, then it's true, children are addictive to the same things as their parents; and I will be truly proud of my inheritance.
A book is an item of worship, a small universe among so much uninteresting reality, a piece of blue heaven on a stormy cold day; the door to a parallel universe; available only for those ready to open their inner eye.
But, returning to my first book love: storybooks, I still have to admit that, as long as I can hold a silly- drawing, enchanting-named and crazy-colored book, life will never be dull, uninteresting or sad for that matter. This small piece of paper can be a time machine every time I open one, taking me back to my silly carefree childhood, and I love every minute of wonder; as I still open them with feverish eyes, trembling hands and wonderous curiosity.
I do believe this helps me never loose my sense of direction, I will thus always know where I'm coming from, and what kind of adult I will want to become.
So yes, October is the perfect month to read stories, either for adults, or for kids, just nourish the small kid inside you, shake off the dust of the years, widely open your eyes and breath in the beautiful colors of autumn, as great books are, just like us, made of stardust....