The Magic of Inspiration
Sunday night, after snuggling my husband, my head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around me, we kissed, said goodnight, and rolled over like bookends to sleep. But I didn’t sleep. Instead, a scene played out in my mind so vividly it was as if a projector flashed a movie onto the backs of my closed eyelids: A young girl runs excitedly through a used book store, her curly strawberry blonde hair bouncing behind her along with the full skirt of her knee-length patchwork dress. Her white tights are gray with wear and age, and her black shoes are scuffed into a dull sheen. It’s her birthday, her favorite day of the year when her dad takes her to choose a few typewritten treasures. They barely fit into…
