What a surprise to see that this is my first post of the month. It’s been busy here at Camp Fisher but now things are back to our usual silent, solitary, and simple routine. July 4th festivities and company have departed. All good. In fact they make this quiet time more precious and appreciated. I definitely like a change of pace.
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.
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.
