Yesterday, at the library, I had a few minutes of quiet between writing and leaving. These moments don’t occur in my life very often. I’m usually hip deep in six different activities or projects, on my way to somewhere, planning another thing, or in the midst of chaos with children. But yesterday, I took a moment just to listen and notice.
First, I was struck by how many modern sounds fill our world. There was the hum of the air conditioner, the roar of the lawn mower, the harsh whir of a pencil sharpener, and the soft hum of computers. Less modern sounds were the rustle of the newspaper the gentleman beside me read and the quiet conversation at the front desk.
Next, I noticed the smells. Leather off the chairs in the nook I sat in, the newsprint, the soft stale scent of old books, and the heavier aroma of old coffee.
The atmosphere was heavy and light all at once. The light came from the big windows that let in the full spring sunshine. But the heavy bookcases, narrow aisles, and mazelike arrangement of the main floor lent a sense of solidness and weight.
How often do we really sit and notice our world. Modern life is so full and chaotic, so frantic and loud that it’s easy to tune out the details. When was the last time you noticed the world around you? What was it like?
Join me Monday for the next two chapters of Blood Bound by Patricia Briggs.