I’ve owned the book for a decade. For several years it sat in a cedar chest—the smell faintly clings to its pages. Later, months passed in which it lay hidden elsewhere, a closet or a basement. For the rest of its time in my possession, it has waited quietly on a shelf. Now, finally, I’m reading it.

I’ve owned the book for a decade. For several years it sat in a cedar chest—the smell faintly clings to its pages. Later, months passed in which it lay hidden elsewhere, a closet or a basement. For the rest of its time in my possession, it has waited quietly on a shelf. Now, finally, I’m reading it.