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.
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