The slightly distant beeping and clunking of musty, bound pages and their covers being checked in and out at the “L” shaped counter is just as loud as the quiet turning of thin leaflets of dead trees worked into pieces of art. The exhilarating thrill and calming peace that accompanies these sounds is only intensified as I slowly step through shelves, worlds, and cultures while looking with a quick pulse, my eyes sparkling, and the right corner of my mouth pulling back into a bit of a smile. Even though I’m not allowing myself to check out any books for the fear of never accomplishing what I must, I allow myself to become lost in the sweet smell and the wonderful words. I carefully rummage through the copious amounts poetry, perfect selection of Charles Dickens, the modest array of languages books, the various world history collections, and diverse folklore.
There is a young man typing on his computer near an oddly placed window in a comfortable chair, watched by the cheap bust of an elegant women. The bust depicts her too poorly for her features and imagined stature. Another young man, who works at the library, continually slips in an out of a door marked “Employees Only” with a look of both irritation and elation covering his square, tan face. More beeping and clunking sounds as another patron retrieves books to temporarily name their own. This sound is my own reminder that I cannot do such today and that it is my time to leave the wondrous smell, feel, sound, and appearance of the library and books. I slowly and reluctantly leave the ever-used, two-story building which is overflowing with its marvellous fare.