Sleeping Books

The clock behind me rolls noisely over its gears, again and again and again. The rest of the library sits silently, and the books lean sleepily into one another, as if they've been standing in line for days, waiting for someone to talk to. Along the ceiling, a skylight runs from the back wall to the front, the windows blanched to keep the light from shining to brightly or too clearly, almost like the gray clouds that are covering Cambridge this morning. Like the light that passes through the clouds and the skylights above me, church bells continue to ring from some unknown tower. Rise and fall, Rise and fall, Rise and fall - coming through the walls into the quiet library. Eventually the bells will stop, but the clock on the wall behind me will continue to roll, again and again and again, noisely over its gears.

And I will turn the page of the book in my lap and continue reading.