Walls of worlds bound and waiting for me. The heavy door, the warmth, the light, the old wood floors-the bookstore! Smells of paper and leather and ink. Salvation Army bells, white lights strung in sidewalk trees, bundled shoppers, hunched and hurrying, kicking up little snowdrifts scattered by the wind. Johnson waiting at her door the smell of Avon powder, her smile as she pressed an envelope into my palm-ten dollars and a peppermint candy cane thank you!Įvening now, running downtown. I remember snowmen and igloos and icy trails through the white and wondrous woods. I remember rubber bands and ink stained hands. I feel the canvas newspaper bag on my shoulders, the weight of Sunday's headlines heavy on my mind. Foghorns blowing on the mist-covered bay. I remember racing to dress, struggling with my boots – “Here, don't forget your mittens.” I remember the soft thump of that first footstep, the tracks looking back, and everything new and blanketed in quiet white. If your book club or organization would like to arrange an appearance from me, either in person or via Skype, please send me a private message at Facebook with your request. Cultivator of roses, apparently to feed a mob of blacktail deer. Recreational pilot and provider of foodstuffs to one very hungry Maine Coon.
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