Everyday I read words, expressions, the environment, history, behaviours, in a neverending search for something more awaiting to be foreseen. There is a bit of a seeker in all of us, I believe, either for the past or the future.
There is always a story that is left somewhere to be told in an old box, a bit of dirt in the shoes...I wonder where they've been...
For some, reading is taken lightly, as a distraction dressed for hedonism, to others reading means a collectible knowledge and to some others, a thirsty hunt.
What if what we are looking for, finds us?