It's a beautiful Friday afternoon, bright blue sky, strong sun, and I'm here in the library. This library has an entire wall of huge north-facing windows, it's astonishing how much of a difference sunshine can make to one's mood.
I have just waved goodbye to my lovely librarian friend, he must have been given the afternoon off as he usually leaves at 6. Earlier this afternoon he joined me with his cup of tea during his break and we chatted quite loudly in the "Quiet Study Area." That's about as naughty as I ever get.
Something remarkable has just occurred. A young woman walked into the library, and I know her, well...I don't really know know her...but there's a story.
This young woman walks down the street where I live every so often, and every so often I notice her and admire her from afar. She must be in her early twenties, pale pale skin, dark red long and straight hair, and perfect posture. She wears wonderfully inventive clothes, items that look like they might have been found in an op-shop and each one with a perfect quirky twist. In the height of summer I have seen her holding a small parasol. She lost her tortoiseshell cat a year or two ago and she asked me if I'd seen her. I told her that I love her style (doing that, as we all know, is called "blackbirding") and she thanked me. The way she spoke matched the way she looked, quiet, fascinating, confident, peaceful.
The woman sitting at the desk near me is sharing the one electrical outlet with me. Every hour or so we swap our laptop plugs around...it's like we are plugging into the Muse...taking turns listening to her whispers. When I said that to the woman she looked at me strangely. Oh well. I know that you understand.