My copy of Watership Down is from France.
I couldn’t tell you which trip it was.
I don’t remember the name of cute 20 year old babysitter that gave it to me.
But I do remember sitting in the garden, or on the train, or in the tent, in France, reading it.
I remember being uncomfortable and shy around the woman that gave it to me, as I was just starting to understand that there was something different about girls.
I have these thoughts as I sit in my study and see this book on the shelf across from me. A book that is yellowed, has no cover, and was printed in 1972.
No one has remembrances about the past when scrolling through their Kindle library.