…sometimes, when I have a few moments of down time, I sit across from the book shelf in the piano room and wonder at the many books I’ve collected. So many I haven’t read. And I wonder when I will have the time to read them. Life is good, and life is full. (I feel like there can’t be a *but* there; life is good and it is full —*but* would imply that life being full carries with it a negative connotation. I don’t think it does; a full life can be crazy busy, but still wonderfully good.) Taking a few moments to breathe and admire the beautiful mess that is the bookshelf, it causes me to reflect on my hours, my days, and what fills them. I wouldn’t trade the hours I spend with my children for a book, nor the moments I steal to watch and care for the birds in my yard. I wouldn’t trade the time I spend taking photographs, or watching a movie with and laughing beside my husband. I *might* trade the hours of laundry, decluttering, or dishes. But, even those tasks are filled with life and cheer, if I choose to see it. But, back to looking at the colorful bindings of the books in front of me…there’s so much I want to learn from the books, so many people I want to meet. I’m not one of those responsible book readers that respects the fact that dawn will appear bright and early every morning, no matter what time I put down my book. I just keep turning to the next page, then the next, and then suddenly it’s 2:00 a.m. Maybe it’s just the season of life that I’m in, and maybe there will be more hours for books in the years ahead. The shelves are certainly well stocked and waiting. They’ll be there.