The Library

She opened the door with the same excitement that came to her every night she escaped her sleeping room to come
here. The flickerung light of her candle casted restless shadows into the room now opend for her to enter.
In the distance of the room, covered by some shelfes, the light of the fireplace was to be seen, iluminating her path
slightly and giving her the feeling to be welcome.
After extinguishing the candle, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. The air in the room was filled with
the smells of old leather and aged papers, leaning her back against the door she enjoyed the feeling it gave her. The
problems of the last day and the tasks, to be fullfilled tomorrow, were left outside, ready to be picked up when she left
the room, later.
Carefully she moved along the way, the little path left that the visitors would be able to reach the fireplace without
colliding with the piles of books lying everywhere.
„Ah, there you are, come here…. sit with me“, the soft voice of the old man invited her to the cussions lying on the floor
in front of both, the fireplace and the old wing chair he was sitting in. She snuggled herself up in the cushions and
waited. The old man smiled, the memory of himself, lying there, waiting to hear the old storys came to his mind.
And, once more, in the deep, cold night of the keep, the stories of the ancestors were told, the child listening and
dreaming, the old man telling the story, the book on his knees, not really reading the words, since he knew the words
already form the depth of his soul when he was as young as the girl was now.
Some years later there was an old woman sitting in the library, the book of storys on her knees waiting for the
youngsters to come down and dream. A smile on her face as she remembered….


Autor: ich
Datum: unbekannt… irgendwann vor 2006