One of the things I love about reading a good story is the “world” the author and I create in my imagination. When I “get into” a story I visualize the people, places, and actions.
And once in a while – not very often – I find that I’ve stopped reading the story and am just experiencing the pleasure of the author’s language taking me to another place and time. It happened again today…
Darkness was beginning to gather slowly and with almost an apologetic air, as if it regretted the painful duty of putting an end to the perfect summer day. Over to the west beyond the trees there still lingered a faint afterglow, and a new moon shone like a silver sickle above the big barn.
I stopped reading for a bit and felt I was “there”. I know the sounds that are there – I can almost hear them. I feel the summer warmth. It’s incredible what words can do!
I did continue reading, but at a slower pace. It was, after all, a warm summer evening in my mind.
(The excerpt is from a story in The Works of P.G. Wodehouse, which I’m reading on a Kindle. And loving his work.)