Just your friendly neighborhood library

I got in some good library time today. I wanted to get some good self-editing books, and something inspiring to read. As I walked down the rows of books, I couldn't help but marvel at the amount of knowledge we have at our fingertips. Standing next to a row of great books and reading their titles, gives me a satisfied, comfortable feeling, like I'm looking at beautiful photographs of people I once knew and really miss.

*Is that weird or what?* Seriously, when I'm old and gray, some kid will come up to me in the library and ask why I'm weeping over Tennyson, and I'll look up and say, "Oh, I'm just laying ole Tenny to rest."

**Sentimental**

I've always loved libraries. What's not to like? They seem so mature and sensible, like a place where one can be quiet and reflect. Is it sacrilegious to say that libraries seem almost like the inside of a church? There's definitely a resemblance. Perhaps the connection has something more do with the fact that many of the books in the library are about amazing people. Then again, on the other hand, there are books about people exactly the opposite.

Still, I can't help but love the satisfied quiet of the library. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that all good beginnings are there---as with the endings. Maybe that fact alone gives the unsure people, like me, the feeling that our endings, whatever they are, will be good ones.

So, I was going to wake up at five and get started writing. Strangely, it didn't happen. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I put the alarm clock in the perfect place where my hand, acting apart from my logical brain, lazily reached over and put a stop to its lamentations. Seriously, why, why, why, do we do that? It's as if the hand wants sleep more than the rest of our body does. Last time I checked, my hand doesn't yawn, have to keep its eyes open, or go jogging.

Anybody have an answer to that one?

Autumn Tang

A fall "tang" is in the air. Anybody feeling melancholy yet? It's as if September comes and kidnaps the youthful feeling of summer, leaving a vacant, cold, empty spot where it used to reside.

I've been feeling this, "tang" for a few days now. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it's getting colder, that subtle oranges are taking over greens. Maybe it's because I no longer wake up to the sounds of birds, and watch as they nest in the trees, because they have all gone off to warmer climates. Even the children have been whisked away to school, leaving their yards in a somber solitude. The tang is very bittersweet. It is quiet, not loud. Its whisper is cool, like a cold wind blowing off of the ocean.

Anybody else feel it?

The GREAT and GRAND Beginning

My best, and first post---so far.

Thus begins the start of my blogging days. Random thought---has anyone thought about how weird the word, "blog" is? It sounds like a term used in the game Balderdash. If I heard the word, and didn't know what it meant, this is what I'd say it was: A term used when a redneck wanted to take a bath. "I'm pretty dirty from working the fields. I better go take a blog. Get squeaky clean. Don't know what I'd do without my daily blog."

Why blog? It sounds like dog, hog, smog, fog, log.

Hopefully my blog is better than smog.

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"If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." - Toni Morrison