The Rebelle blog

Last Saturday, Dad and me went to a Book Exhibition after a long time. As soon as we entered the exhibition hall, Dad turned one way and I turned to the other. We lost ourselves in the long rows of books and only met halfway through the hall after what seemed like hours of browsing. We looked up from our reverie and smiled widely after seeing each other's arms full of books. In the middle of doing all this, we also met a few familiar faces, some of Dad's friends who had come with their kids. I felt very nice to see them running through the book aisles and picking up books and shouting at the top of their lungs about them to their parents. A very gratifying feeling that there exist parents still who are nurturing book love in their children in this age of fast technology. Also, the organisers of the exhibition seemed to be very nice and kind people because they did not reprimand any of the kids for causing ruckus. Usually when I visit book stores, kids seem bored in a compact ...

I have known hours built like cities, House on grey house, with streets between That lead to straggling roads and trail off, Forgotten in a field of green; Hours made like mountains lifting White crests out of the fog and rain, And woven of forbidden music— Hours eternal in their pain. Life is a tapestry of hours Forever mellowing in tone, Where all things blend, even the longing For hours I have never known. (Source: Academy of American Poets) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hazel Hall was born in Saint Paul, Minnesota, in 1886. She published three books of poetry, including  Walkers (Dodd, Mead and Company, 1923) and Cry of Time (E. P. Dutton, 1928). Hall died in Portland, Oregon, in 1924. “Hours” was originally published in Hall’s collection Curtains (John Lane Company, 1921).