Sunday, May 25, 2008

[Title Ommited] No seriously, thats what it called...

Not really I'm lying, i just didn't want to put it on for some reason. Putting this up was enough effort. I haven't forgotten my little non-stereotypical ant, but i figured you should have a post and this was already written up. A little story telling time. And if you don't like books, turn away!!

Emilia passed through the archway into a sphere of silence. Only the gentle rustle of a page being turned or a book being coaxed from its home disturbed the quiet. She breathed out slowly and took in the row of shelves stretching far into the depths of the room.
She would call it a room, but it hardly seemed to fit the description. The space was far too large, the ceiling seemed twenty feet high and the walls were so very far apart. It was just a space, filled with books. Emilia closed her eyes in pleasure before strolling down one aisle of shelves crammed full of the books.
“The reading of all good books is like conversation with the finest men of past centuries,”[i] she whispered, as she thought of all the great books that surrounded her, and all the conversations she might have. Name after name rolled by her on the spines and with them the brilliant minds which lived on only in print, but would yet share so much.
A title caught her particular attention and she slowly slid the volume from its place. Emilia let it fall open and breathed in the unique smell of an old library book, a much loved book. Its cover fell comfortably into place, and the pages were worn, there was the occasional dog ear, and tiny, scrawled notes here and there in the margin. It had certainly been read countless times and had filled many with borrowed emotions.
Emilia flipped through the book once more before placing it back in its rightful place and setting off again. If language were indeed the archives of history[ii] all one needed to discover the ages was a room full of words, and here she stood amongst centuries of the world, each one just waiting to be glimpsed. So many stories waiting to be told and so much wisdom longing to be imparted.
Emilia looked to the end of her aisle where a middle-aged man sat engrossed in a book. An elbow rested on the arm of the chair, hand thoughtfully stroking his beard, as his eyes made their way slowly down one page, then another - the movement of a hand - and another. Occasionally Emilia would see his beard twitch and lips curve in amusement, and just the once heard a quiet chuckle to himself.
That man was entirely absorbed in the world of that book, that conversation with a fine man, that acquaintance with a long-gone era. And in that man and his book, Emilia saw the essence of a library encapsulated: the quiet, the delight, the one thing holding so much. She allowed herself one more moment to take it in, then turned and passed through the archway once more.
Behind her, an inscription over the entryway to the silent room read:
“Here is where people
One frequently finds
Lower their voices
And raise their minds”[iii]
And on the other side, the world’s many voices grew loud once again.

[i] Rene Descartes
[ii] Ralph Waldo Emerson
[iii] Richard Armour

All the stupid formatting got stuffed up, it took ages to get it right at the end. But anyway. There you go.

I was really reluctant to put this up, so I'm schelduling it. Ill forget and then BAM it'll be up for all to see.

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