The Books on the Shelves

The library is a sanctuary for thought - every window in our library frames a work of art - its a gallery.  In some there are pictures of the grounds, in progress, machine's digging, steady pounding, like a drum, like a machine.  It changes. Crane swinging, building moving, concrete pouring, trucks are grumbling. In the next frame is a strange portrait of two large catepillars, perfectly poised for their clasical family closeup - dirt, free of charge.   Its not finished, its not perfect, its covered in mud and dirt - no trees, a metal wasteland - no, not a wasteland - its in progress. 

But in the spring and fall, what I love most of all, is the view from the window in the back.  This picture rustles in the wind, changes colors, green, orange, yellow, red. I love those trees. Beautiful trees, with pine needles and fallen leaves on the ground.  The sun strikes that foliage and scatters in shadows to the ground. I once covered three journal pages with how much I love those trees. 

I think the library is Romantic, a place to dream and explore.  I'm slightly off-kilter, but the library is my sanctuary - its my Narnia in the closet.