it smells like rain, and it is already dark outside even if it is only 3:37 PM per my computer’s clock. as i blog, the room becomes darker as the drizzle turns to rain and, rather than turn on the lights, I open the door of the study to let some light in from the terrace. i love the smell of rain, and I must have already blogged a million times about it. now with the smell of rain, inevitably i am craving for the musty smell of the grade school library—the smell of the old hardbound books of my childhood—those dog-eared and well-worn titles I used to take home: the detective books of nancy drew and judy bolton, the unabridged but illustrated childrens’ classics, the enid blyton books about english kids who lived in boarding schools with names like malory towers and st. clare’s, the little house on the prairie series, the anne of Avonlea series, and my favorite, books by roald dahl.
i feel like an 8-year-old again. am fighting the urge right now to look for that nancy drew i bought (out of a compulsion to recreate the library of my childhood) some years ago and curl up in my bed to read.
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