In the library I've been working upstairs of late, doing searches and straightening during my volunteer shifts. I love it up there in those early morning hours before we open our doors for the day. I move things around, neatening, looking behind for long lost books, running my fingers happily down shelves and shelves of mysteries, romances, fantastical science fictions and all the other fictions -- all new curiosities to me after so long in a university research library.
It is quiet up there. Sometimes Sydney or Linda or Brian will wander through with an armful of magazines or books to re-shelve, but usually it's just me rustling about among the stacks.
It is empty and quiet and sky-light bright, and I get the sense sometimes of being safely tucked away in an aerie. The seagulls must have a similar affinity for the library's roof, and as I wander I find myself smiling at their raucous, riotous squawking from up top. So I work my way through the rows of books up there on the second floor, listening to gull music and the wind and the quiet of this tiny city perched here on the edge of the sea. I work and listen and wonder what it is they're squabbling over, what it is they're saying, what exactly they're looking for up there. Of course, sometimes I wonder the same thing about me.