There is just something endearing about finding little bits of someone's memories in an old book. This week-end while out treasure hunting, I came across quite a few old books. None of them in good condition and each smelling of mold. But in spite of all that, the worn used look of each book was appealing to me.
While thumbing through one of these books I came across a pressed violet, wrapped in vintage newspaper, forgotten by it's previous owner.
In another book I found a handwitten copy of an old poem by Charles T. Rankin. Oops, it looks like the person writing the poem wrote the incorrect name of the poet. Apparently a commonly held mistake.
Thank you for stopping by!