Reading between the lines is the work of what is called “Sixth Sense”.
That kind of clairvoyance that allows us to infer a veiled intention, a hidden meaning, beyond words.
But last Sunday, I was not only reading between the lines but walking among them.
My son invited me to a used book fair.
The books took over the sports stadium (Curling to be exact, you can’t be more Canadian)
We were there for hours, walking through alleys of classics of universal literature, Canadian history, poetry, contemporary authors. We found a collection books section, where we spotted an old edition of a book about Bolívar, by Emil Ludwig, commissioned by the Venezuelan government to this author in 1938.
In short, a very tactile way of reading, leafing here and there, phrases taken on the fly, poems to say goodbye.
Between my son and I we came out with about ten books in total.
But this anecdote is relevant because, since some months ago, I not only read between the lines, but sleep, walk, navigate, and even dream about them.
And not because I have a third eye or I’m looking for the cat’s fifth leg, but because I have new friends.
I don’t know any of them personally, but it’s like we’ve known each other forever.
Every Sunday, with my first coffee in the morning, I settle into my armchair and open my little window to the world. There, surrounded by art and words, I share with my adventure’s companions, who travel from various continents to accompany me.
It is a beautiful feeling of closeness, sharing a space and a longing.
The desire to tell stories.
We are Atril, “Gente que cuenta”.
Grateful to be part of this team for its 100th edition.
From my corner, and literally sitting “between your lines” a warm greeting for all my colleagues who tell stories so wonderfully.