Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.
Day Fifty Two
What could be better than an afternoon spent at the library, pulling books from the shelf. There is always a serendipitous discovery to be made and new worlds to enter. That is what I am missing today, wandering from shelf to shelf with no purpose, no author in mind, just seeing what I will find.
In my home I have an antique bookshelf that has passed through generations of my family. It is a hand-hewn piece, circular in design, so that you can spin it about to find the volume that you seek. There is a small plate set on one of the shelves noting the year of its construction and the patent the maker claimed. It was constructed for a preacher, my family being lousy with them at the time.
On this Sunday of the quarantine it is my library. I turn its shelves and look at the books there. Many are unread, for I am a collector of unread books. I have never seen the purpose in keeping books I have finished, someone else should have those pleasures. I have new ones to discover.
Still, though I possess many unread volumes, the ones I don’t are what entrance me. To stumble upon something unknown, especially now that it is denied me, is what I yearn for most.