the need to read

Day by day it is darker and colder.
I leave for work in the dark. I come home in the dark.
The days rouse the smell of crisp cold and turned earth. Which makes no sense to me since I don't live remotely near a farm and the city refuses to give up even one stretch of unpaved ground. The nights, thicker with moisture, press the beginnings of the moldy smell before the leaves go to rot. The smell of wood smoke or brush fire would be more welcome but this is a city and fall is not a season of the city. Fall is swept up between pro-tourist city beautification planted summer and consumeristic holiday lit windows.
Since it is cold and darker now the windows are beautiful and bright. So inviting in the early darkness. Promising shimmering dreams thru glass that will not melt. This looking glass is not for you. Oh, no Alice. Not for you. These are rich displays for rich lives and even though you work all the hours of daylight left, you will never know them. The softly lit light restrained from the darkness glows so bright when wet eyes make them twinkle. The whiteness of winter mocked up with ermine. The sparkle of snow replaced with diamonds. The glow of warmth within the winter scenes, the happiness that comes from the right box, the perfectly set table sitting empty, the tableau at conflict with itself.

I am out of books to read, and if I continue to look about instead of burying my eyes into ---letters that make words into sentences forming paragraphs which is love--- books I will surely go insane and become one of them, the never happy shoppers looking wistfully on the make believe in the stores that they can not purchase even if they owned it all.


Please can anyone recommend some good books?