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I read slow. Always have. It doesn’t matter what speed reading course taken or any other helpful advice anyone thinks they have. I read slow. Slow. Like a children’s story read at bedtime, or the stories heard on the radios of old. In fact, that is precisely how my mind takes in the written word. It does not just see the words, but hears…, if only in my mind. I stumble upon words I cannot make out in sound, slowing things up even further. But don’t get me wrong, I love to read, even though I will only skim the surface of the books I desire to explore in my lifetime. I read slow. Every pause. Every breath. Every perceived point of hesitation, or accentuation, tone and depth. My mind is a storyteller, with cast accompaniment. You do not rush the storyteller. To have the tongue of an auctioneer read a ghost story by the light of a campfire does not suffice. To the delight of my son as I bring the written words to his ears, I read slow.
What comes to mind when you think about something slow? Feel free to share in the comments.
Maze Walker 