I brought poetry to the breakfast table.
Tomorrow is a newspaper delivery day but I may just toss it, bag and all, into the recycling bin.
Pigs, mice, bears, and other sets of three charm the pages of literature. But when my town’s daily newspaper moved to a three-day a week delivery, I was far from enchanted. Someone once told me that a new habit requires a three-week commitment. Trusting the magical number three, I waited faithfully for 21 days to pass. But on the 22nd day, I still longed to hear the daily slap of the paper hitting my driveway. Perhaps, I was misinformed; maybe it was three months, not three weeks. When March became April, I was still a lost soul at the kitchen table without my morning paper. Despite using my iPad to visit the newspaper’s website, I continued to lament the sensation of paper pages while sipping coffee. I substituted magazines with moderate success. But the newspaper-shaped hole in my heart would not mend.