Colette and the kiddies section

I was sitting with Colette today in the library. There was no place to sit except the children's reading section. There, in a plastic chair, that might have been moulded from my backside, I sat with The Vagabond. There was a mother sitting at a knobbly table with her daughter, engaging her attention with various characters who, as far as I could tell, were either hot or cold or were in the rain. The kid pointed them all out. Bravo, I say. A conscientious and very blond family sat to my other side. I couldn't distinguish what they were saying. Troops of little kids plodded about underfoot. And I was reading the vagabond, deeply moved by Colette's beautiful (always beautiful) writing. Colette, what is it about her work which makes me joyous and intensely aware of myself? Unabashed, unashamed and honest prose. She really knew how to express a woman's thoughts and feelings.

Anyway, there I sat, lump in my throat as the book came to a conclusion. All my children as soon as they're old enough to want to read her, may.