A wisp of air blows a rustic, historic smell up towards the person’s nostrils as they open the book. The pages are dog eared and yellowed from the many years and environments it’s been through and the cover is faded from the many hands that have touched it. The person begins to read the lines of the words the author had once thought up. As they read, the words fill their heart and fill their mind with value.

There’s nothing like going to grandma’s house or up into an old attic of someone’s house to find a plethora of books that are waiting to be opened again. There’s nothing like picking them up and smelling the history in their pages and the wonder of what the past owners once thought of the book when they, too, held it in their hands. There’s simply nothing like reading real books.

We are coming in to an age where everything we touch, everything we do, everything we see is electronic and technological, and with that, we are coming into an age where the reading of books is simply diminishing. It truly began with computers and cell phones, where we no longer needed to write as much or even talk as much to communicate. We no longer needed the use of books to derive our knowledge. Then there was the iPod and later the iPhone where one could have a computer in the palm of their hand. That gave us even more reason to not use books. Now, we have things like the electronic book, Nooks, Kindles, all sorts of tablets and all the works. The use of the book is slowly diminishing.

It is sad, really. The history of them, the hands that once touched them, the nose that once smelled the newness of them and the nose that smells the history of them today – all that will soon be destroyed as we replace real books with the new technology of today. The advice is to not forget them. When one has the desire to read, pick up the old one in grandma’s attic every once in awhile and remember what it was like when the cold metal-ness of electronics was non-existent and instead, the warm realness of a book was upon your palms.