An inky, crisp smell invades my nose









I hear the crinkle and swish of a page turning








A frail librarian smiles at me
People pass my soft bench without a thought








I hear the beep of books checking out








The shelves are decorated with colorful spines
I run away from reality with fantasy









I hear the eager giggle of children








The pages seem warm in my hand
Steinbeck, Austen, Poe, Plath, Shakespeare,






















I hear the voices between the lines









New and ancient ideas of others shake and turn my head.
No place different still safe











I hear silence and my own bated breath











An adventure in a quiet place