read aloud

last night three friends and i gathered in a cozy, light-filled living room to enjoy the simple pleasure of one good book. and literally, just that. this was not a story acted on stage or adapted for screenplay, but instead a single copy of Little House on the Prarie by Laura Ingalls Wilder passed from person to person while the rest of us listened intently. together we were awed at the courage of the early settlers, savored the beautiful descriptions of the high prarie sights and sounds, grieved the loss of the Ingall's dog, Jack, and later delighted in his return. we laughed heartily at Ma's mild responses which conveyed so much more than she ever said, Pa's colloquialisms and Laura's curious questions.

my friend recently returned from a 2-week stint at l'Abri in minnesota where she "detoxed from all things electronic" and enjoyed the gentle rythm of work, study and community. while there, she enjoyed this simple form of evening entertainment and initiated this evening of a read aloud.

several hours and chapters later, i walked away enriched. enriched by the power of a story and the glimpse into lives lived well. unlike the end of a movie where the transition back to reality feels jolting, i easily slipped back into my own life and thoughts, though my imagination was awakened to beautiful scenes and images conjured up by simply good writing.

who knew all this could be found in a read aloud?