I love libraries

A morning of Taekwondo followed by an afternoon of very dull painting. I hate getting plaster ready for painting. Soooo dull.

Captured this blip in Lennoxtown at the library. It's accompanied by a great poem by Jackie Kay:

Always a new book to wolf down in the dead of night,
a borrowed book to read by torchlight…
In the morning, last night’s saved page turns
to who last had this book out
and the date returned, 9 June, this year.

This same book in a stranger's hands, half-known.
Those readers, kindred spirits, almost friends.
You are in transition; you are on the threshold.
The library is the place that gets you. Pure gold.

You are Holden, you’re Lyra, you’re White Fang,
you’re Kidnapped, you’re Skellig, you’re Refugee Boy.
You’re Callum, a nought, you’re Catch 22.
You’re Chris Guthrie. You're Hyde. You're Boo Radley.
It's not Accidental. You are those books. Those books are You.

Inside your mind you’re strong. Safe.
Toss a coin: heads, reader; tails, writer.
The library is the young writer’s first home.
You read pertinent sayings, make your own.
The cool teenager is a member of the library.