For this one first: thick leather cover, already wise with scars. The chain, a link for objects that resonate, that need to be near. The clasp, traditional: remindful of books and boxes that store knowledges for thousands of years.
The cut, directional yet fragmented; purposeful lines broken, torn distractions welcome. The poet inspiring the inner words, Yeats.
Corn hair papers, khadi, rustling tissues, clear clean white notepapers, no lines. Here is honest telling.
The book back, soft, tangled, layered and textured. We see our experiences through many layers; each layer adds a new consideration and a new tint upon the last. At the end, a touch of twisted bark on the fingertips: this ancient way as old as human time.
Two: wrapping cover, russet brown suede, contains shrine.
Three: soft tan cover, pockets for collecting what's most important to guide the day.
Posted by Grit