I'd read this book while on a night shift and found myself unable
to tear my eyes away from Neil Gaiman's words,
until they appeared to dance across the page,
and I knew I needed more coffee.
As daylight crept in, I was still turning its pages,
until, with a feeling of dread, I came to the end of the book.
I was filled with a sense of loss and emptiness, as is often the way
when ending a much-loved tale. Like saying goodbye to an old friend.
I'd loved it ever since and knew I'd want to read it again some day.
Last month, my thoughtful daughter swept me off to London
where we sat among the audience, while Neil Gaiman
read a chapter from this wonderful tome,
and Elise Hurst discussed her illustration technique.
Throughout the evening I kept sighing, overwhelmed
with happiness, and really didn't want the night to end.
As we left the building, my daughter pulled me off to a little desk
where she collected a hard-backed copy of the book and handed it to me.
Inside, both illustrator and author had signed it.