how did you get here? you don’t quite recall…
you remember a street.
yes, a street much like many others you have traversed in your time
(though, the location of this particular thoroughfare seems to elude you)
you recall a sign creaking gently in the breeze on rattling chains…
and below it, you remember a door…
an olde door of stained wood—well kept—metal braces, and an ornate handle;
a portal opening into a curious, gentle place…
the diaphanous tinkle of a chime echoes as you step in,
reverberating for much longer than you expect, steeping
you smell book bindings and leather, aromatic and nostalgic;
you taste dust and something that could be coffee (with a hint of cinnamon, perhaps?)
and a settled silence that comforts rather than forebodes…
what’s this?
in front of you is a pedestal amidst a moat of light, dust afloat as if wanton stars…
closer now, you see that it bears a selection of tomes,
each filled with the magical amalgam of colour and word,
image and story…