chairs are social creatures

There is an old saying among the people of Azerbaijan: a book is like a garden in the pocket. If that’s so…and I, for one, believe it is…then a library is a garden of gardens. It’s an arboretum and an herb garden and a lily pond and the elegant raked sand and stone of a Japanese karesansui.

Despite their reputation, libraries are never quiet. Even when all the people have left and the librarians have shelved their last books and gone home for the night, libraries are never quiet. Because thoughts are growing there. Dreams are growing, and imaginations and hopes.

It’s a subtle sound, the hushed whisper of cultivated dreams and ideas, soft as the wings of moths but it can permeate steel and bone. Bring home a library book and you can hear it at night, resonating with all the thoughts and ideas that bounced off it while on the shelf. Sit in a library chair at a library table and you can feel the gentlest of vibrations, a harmonic convergence of all those dreams and ideas thrumming to the same rhythm.

Those chairs, that table, those shelves and the books on them. Thrumming. All the time, thrumming, like the muted murmur of bees pollinating a garden.

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