Let me count the ways

What is it that I love about cards? The touch, the feel, the comforting therapy of a quick shuffle, the breaking in of the cards as they bend to my use, the feel of the cardstock in the palm of my hand. I love the infinite combinations, laying out on a favourite velvet cloth or on my glass-topped coffee table, the familiar turning up in unfamiliar combinations, the fact that such a compact, age-old combination of symbols can be tossed in my bag or tucked in my pocket and taken anywhere. I love how, with use, the edges turn grey (though I swear my hands are always clean), slightly grubby, slightly scuffed. Whether tarot, tarock, Lenormand, Sibilla, Poker cards, Piquet, Skat, Victorian Patience games with simperingly gentile names,  you name it. Love them. I have other obsessions, but this - perhaps - is the most constant.

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