Earlier this morning, from our open widows, I could hear the whistle of the little train at Truck Day over at the library. Well, when we took our grandkids it was called “Truck Day,” but now it’s “Touch a Truck Day.”
I just went over; took a few pictures outside, and a few books from inside--random books from the stacks. New books don’t seem to appeal to me these days. Maybe it’s because the characters are younger than me—younger by many, many years. Maybe I want stories set back when I was younger. Regardless, I wanted a good novel so I pulled a book from the shelf, read the dust cover, and made a choice. I came home with five.
I’m very grateful for libraries and that I live within hearing and seeing distance of one.