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It’s a sunny afternoon and the white cotton bed linens invite an escape, for suddenly there is nothing so necessary as curling up in bed. It’s not time for a nap, however that may come later. For now, it’s time for a book and the satisfying soundtrack of breathing accompanied by the lazy crispness of turning pages. Maybe you’ll prop yourself up on a mountain of pillows with a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand or flop yourself down on your stomach and rest your chin in your hand. Perhaps you’ll bury yourself beneath an avalanche of blankets or put your feet up on an obliging wall. It doesn’t matter much, since you’ll shift anyway as you lose yourself in a story, as you slide across the lines of a poem or learn about something you always wanted to know. Reading in bed, the perfect escape. Just you and the sheets and the words.
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