Reading in the attic

When I was young and we used to go to my Grandma and Grandad Tingley's house, I would often venture upstairs to the attic.  The doorway to the attic was a small door inside one of the bedrooms.  The ceiling in the attic was pitched with the roof, so even I had to duck down to move around up there.  The attic was filled with treasures.  I never ventured further than the bookshelves up there, though.  (Now I wish I had explored more)  I would sit up there and read the "Reader's Digest Condensed Books" that my grandparents had stored.  At the age of 8 or 9, these were really great books to read and I loved being able to escape to the solitude of the attic.  I wish I could paint or draw the picture that is in my mind of the bookshelves in the attic, although I think that our memories are more special to us individually than trying to share them with others.  Do you know what I mean?  You probably wouldn't feel as "warm" about this memory as I do, because you didn't experience it.  (Although my siblings and parents might have experienced it...I dunno!)   Just rambling thoughts on this nice fall day.