Sun, mellow as cheese, rolls gold over yellow stone bridge, ducks revealing tail-curls, beaks weed-wards, as cycling lazily ' mailbag angled in basket ' the postman circles the village with words from outside.
The bookshop, windows glazed with latest covers and posters proclaiming 'THE SUMMER BOOK FESTIVAL', flings open its mouth to welcome friend and stranger as rows of shelves host silent reams of printed paper, bound, awaiting freedom, to be lifted up, opened, devoured by eyes soaking up sentences, paper money swapped for streams of wisdom, enticing novels, pregnant poems, singing storybooks, travel tales, transporting readers from village to places dreamt of in a wider world.
