A Special Place

Running memories of a place in which one walks and talks in hushed tones. Still, subdued, restrained within a spirited energy moving down rows of mystical bindings. Intimate, smelling musty on a rainy winter day, passed through portals where grandiose granite lions guard the way. Grandmother took me the first time. I sat, at four, in a lemon yellow chair as my feet touched the floor (that had never happened before!). Given a card on which the letters of my name would be a magic wand, I carried home treasures. The Libraria. A sanctuary grew as I knew the joy of an explorer within tales of other times, other wordy worldly places, as from meticulously managed shelves, a perfectionist in me was bred. The Library evokes change in all. With grown-up pretense left behind, curious inner child faces abound - eyes wide, heads cocked to and fro, knees bend down, or arms stretch high in search of knowledge, dreams, drama, escape. The child in me will always find spiritual wonder in this, a special place.