A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost;
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A walk with my mother-in-law through the cool morning air. We walked briskly to keep our fingers and toes from freezing, but our ears felt chilly by the end despite our efforts. Then a soaky bath with Broken for You, followed by a confusing phone call and errands. I felt clever, navigating from one unlikely destination to another without resorting to major, well-known roads.
Seeing a childhood library is like coming home. Perhaps it is even better, because the library changes more slowly than any private domicile. The rather ugly 1970s brick architecture; the wooden flying dinosaur-representations hung from the ceiling; the reserved books section; the children’s corner; the 1970s librarians; and most of all, the smell. How to quantify the smell? Can it words box accurately, surrounding it with six correctly-placed walls? The smell of glue, paper, and most of all, of books. As a child I loved the smell of library books (I still do!); before reading, I would bury my face in the book, breathing in the library-scent emanating from its pages. Perhaps I liked it for the gluey smell. Or perhaps it was just the associations that unconsciously arose at the smell.
I just returned a book. But I’m glad that while some things change, some things remain constant. Books, and book banks, are one of them. Update: another thing that remains constant is my performance in class. WPI posted our grades today; I did as I usually do. Only three terms left!