I take my time picking out an address book because I keep it for a very long time. Counting the one I’m using now, my lifetime total stacks up to three.  

But my book is getting worn.  I see the spine is separating from the cover. Some of the tabs are dog-eared; QR is missing all together. ‘Course XYZ is still as stiff as when the book was new. No matter. There is only one address stored there; blank pages from XYZ migrated to denser neighborhoods years ago.

Despite its declining condition it never disappoints. It is not so small that adding an address is a chore. It is not so large that taking it along is a hardship. The botanical print on the front is timeless and modest. The binding is still sturdy.

Open the book and memories swarm like starlings coming in to roost for the night. They jostle, flit, and flutter before huddling companionably against the chill.  And I am reminded of the steady march of time.