It’s harvest time. The brochures and pamphlets designed this summer are coming back from the printer, arriving at the office in heavy cardboard boxes. When I open them up, the world smells right again.

It’s the aroma of ink on paper, and it is, to an old print person like me, almost intoxicating.

Say what you will about seamless modern communication, about the touchscreen, the tablet, the tweet. The digital world is ours whether we like it or not. I understand that now. I have come to terms with it.

But give me the heft of a September Vogue, the welcome weight of a Victorian novel, the stacks of heavy, photo-rich college and university magazines that threaten to take over the bookcase in my office. Give me something I can see and hold and smell — and then I’ll really have something to read.

(Ink on paper run amuck)