Eagle Of The Ninth Memories

Reading The Eagle Of The Ninth, (Rosemary Sutcliff), absorbs the mind into Roman Britain held against the wild tribes. Between the covers of a book the pages shiver and dance, dissolving words into wavering drawn memories.
So I can sit in a leather recliner in a warm electric-lit room and still ride shaggy ponies through furze and heather in the mist.
To read of the heart-stopping fear in the dark barrow of the Horned One, the stiff wounded leg pains of Marcus, the fury of Cottia, is to feel, to experience within the mind, what life could have been like in those times.
Such a wonder it has always been for me, reading a good book. Now the books I read and enjoyed in my teenage years are gone from the libraries. I have a few of them I keep for times when I just have to read. Nowadays I try to do more physical things, sewing, piano, photo labeling, yard work. But the lure of a good book, the disappearing into another place and time, always waits for me.