I do not want to read books written for teens. I do not want to read new books. I want to snuggle down with Winnie-the-Pooh and Uncle Wiggily.
I want to revisit the flood in which Piglet is entirely surrounded by water and the boat made of an overturned umbrella.
I can not get interested in road trips made by fledgling adults, or the struggles of young people whose best friends have all moved away. I want to to find Goldbug on every page. I want to meet Anne Shirley again for the first time.
And I want to sail on the pirate ship with Obadiah, the Bold, chant "Not I!" with the dog and the mouse and the cat - or is it a rooster?
It is the waning of summer, a time of nostalgia and I want to go back, go back, go back to the first time I opened Little Men.
This, too, shall pass. Toddlers turn to school children. Tigers turn to butter and I will turn to new books some time.
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