He loves them as works of art—exquisitely detailed, lovely in form and colour—and because of the record they provide of the way the world once was.
I love maps, but not for the same reason as my mother.
When anyone talks about visiting a place to which she has not been, she dashes to the World Atlas (never stored too far away) and eagerly flips to the map that contains it. How big is this place? Are there rivers nearby? How far is it from the largest city?
Her curiosity about the world beyond her experience is a thirst that maps help to quench.
I look up from the pastel-coloured page and out at the sharp, real world. And there, like the perfect fit of the definition portion of a clue, is the street sign for Pine Drive.
Do you love maps for the same reason I do?
Are you drawn to cartograms for some other reason?