librarian’s diary—Amanda

On this gently unassuming Wednesday in a corner of the world where the birds shrill and bread ovens fragrance the air, I look through a shop window and see nooks upon shelves of dust jackets beckoning me near.

I walk in, and as soon as I cross the threshold, something in me builds — gentle yearning. There are people talking, engrossed in new worlds, I want to join them. But what of Time? I leave her crossing her arms and tapping her feet outside the front door. She stands on her watch and breaks it.

Here, inside, is quiet contemplation, eager chatter, furious scribbling, a running of hands down spines, book spines. There are glows on Hope, Community and Joy’s faces.

And as for myself, something unnamed in me dismantles, hopefully for good.