Today has thus far been quiet and calm. A welcome change. I have been to the library for a new pile of books. To me, there's something about summer and the library that has deep meaning and joy. I believe it springs from my childhood. For a number of my school years we lived right across the street from the library in our little town. The library was actually a victorian home, three stories high, which was converted into the town library. I spent a large part of my endless summer hours in that cool, quiet place. It was a comfort and probably saved me from a certain sadness in my young life.
I am always excited about the books I bring home from the library. Among this week's collection are a number of rereads. I think I will begin with a favorite of mine, "Tender is the Night" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Each time I read it, I catch something new...I'd like to leave you today with an excerpt from Book 1 of this gorgeously written book:
Following a walk marked by an intangible mist of bloom that followed the white border stones she came to a space overlooking the sea where there were lanterns asleep in the fig trees and a big table and wicker chairs and a great market umbrella from Sienna, all gathered about an enormous pine, the biggest tree in the garden. She paused there a moment, looking absently at a growth of nasturtiums and iris tangled at its foot, as though sprung from a careless handful of seeds, listening to the plaints and accusations of some nursery squabble in the house. When this died away on the summer air, she walked on, between kaleidoscopic peonies massed in pink clouds, black and brown tulips and fragile mauve-stemmed roses, transparent like sugar flowers in a confectioner's window - until, as if the scherzo of color could reach no further intensity, it broke off suddenly in mid-air, and moist steps went down to a level five feet below.
Dear hearts, I hope you have a peaceful and beautiful weekend.