I often re-read books. And this re-reading usually comes from a need to revisit the place to which they take me, be it an actual or a mental space. I’ve read Sara Maitland’s Book of Silence many times. I need it now, I find. I covet her contentment (though she questions that that is what she seeks, stating it as something more akin to the sublime), her silence, her solitude and time for contemplation. Will my time come? Will I allow it to be so? I hope so, sincerely.
