Here’s a confession: I am most content and peaceful when browsing in a book store, whether it be traditional or second-hand. Just the possibility of worlds and ideas lying between the covers; the adventures and challenges calling, the lessons beckoning, the dizzying expectations; all combines to lift me out of my day-to-day existence like nothing else. I was lazing on the deck, sated by the sweet scent of raspberry bee balm, when I eyed this passage in Natalie Goldberg’s “Thunder and Lightening:”
“…I have sought out bookstores in every town and city I pass through, the way someone else might search out old battle sites. I consider people working in bookstores my friends….If a town has no bookstore, I feel sad for the place.
….You can live in a small hamlet on the Nebraska Plains and if there’s a bookstore, it’s like the great sun caught in one raisin or the juicy flesh of a single peach. A bookstore captures worlds–above, behind, below, under, forward, back. From that one spot the townspeople can radiate out beyond any physical limit. A hammer and nails in the hardware store down the block, though fine and useful tools, can’t quite do the same job. Even an ice cream parlor, a definite advantage, does not alleviate the sorrow I feel for a town lacking a bookstore.”
Out on the deck, as the robins hop through the cat mint and the breeze teases the pages of my newest read, I’m savoring the great sun caught in one juicy raisin.
“Roads Unravelling is a winding highway of quiet, still surfaces and yawning depths. Patrolling the flow are gape-jawed monsters and small glimmering pearls of real beauty.” –The New Brunswick Reader