Saturday, August 29, 2009
Hot late August sunlight through the open door, leaf-shadow on the grey title floor and the black keyboard before me. Upside-down sun reflected in the display case at the end of the counter. Yellow leaves scattered here and there among the green leaves on the little tree outside the door, a few browned remnant leaves scattered on the sidewalk this morning, a reminder of summer swiftly drawing down to a close. Ray Charles' Modern Sounds in Country & Western Music Volumes 1 & 2 on the deck, the horns' slow lazy huh huh huh huh huh. It Makes No Difference Now. Hot enough that sweat stands out on my forehead, on the coarse black hairs frosting the back of my neck and upper shoulderblades. Not much here lately due to not much to say. The busiest month in the store's history. Last Sunday morning: ten people waiting at 11am, one with twelve boxes. New books, special orders, school lists, phone ringing and then it's 8pm and dark. Cool wind and stars. I carry in the bargain books, flip the table sideways, collapse its folding legs to fit it through the door.

Great warm wind tossing the trees outside. Main Street momentarily deserted, gently baking in the sun.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009

(Via Peter Culley, with thanks)
Monday, August 24, 2009

Now comes a chance to find ourselves
And quiet reigns behind our doors
We think about posterity again...

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