It's been a while since I've had the time to just stroll into the library without much aim and read excerpts and jackets of books that I'm drawn to. Currently I'm going through a memoirs phase...which somehow always seems to happen when summer's near. Winter is the season for intricate 19th century tomes; Autumn, sharp and break-taking short story collections; Spring, poetry of course; and Summer... Maybe it's the idea of summer as reinvention---something about the combination of freedom, sun, and shedding of layers....makes me gloriously untethered from my usual sense of self and responsibility and reach for books about transformation and transmutation in other people's lives. It's the season for optimism. I still believe in the power of growth.
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