hallowed ground

Breathe in.

mid-afternoon sunlight spills across yellowing pages,

pooling on a frayed rug.

dust is illuminated in the beam and it spins,

lazily dancing to silent violins.

There is the smell of ink, paper

and forgotten things,

fading words and cracked leather,

a shrine to what once was,

all silence and clutter.

Breathe out.

the clatter of yellow rain boots on ancient floorboards,

pigtails bouncing in time with a schoolyard song,

all chaos and smile and youth,

small hands grasping at ancient tomes.

This one, grandpa!

Can we read this one today?