Tag Archives: library


Another day at the library. The trees outside are still in the air. Only a slight breeze to stir the calm. People walk by the window in their own rush. Coming and going and not finding the calm of the trees. The sky isn’t blue, but a grey. The color sits between white and grey actually. The day feel calm. Like a slow breath moves through the air. Inward and outward in a gentle flow. The sun basks on the white building across the corner. The paint is pale and cracking. It wrinkles as it ages. Dark windows allow light in. But beyond is a dark space. There are three trees next to the library. They have large green leaves. Thin limbs emerge from a trunk of white and ash grey. One can imagine the leaves are breathing. As the float softy on the wind. Maybe they are dancing or playing a game. We think of trees as not moving. But they move all the time. They move about in the wind, lay in the sun. There is no reason to believe they don’t feel. The cool of the breeze. The warm of the sun. The freshness of the air. The leaves dance more in the wind. Cars slip by in traffic under their limbs. The people unaware of the beauty around them. Further away a tall tree sways dramatically. Its many tall branches reach for the sky.
And there she is the angel of the library. Her flowing grey sweater. Lose from her shoulders and blowing behind. She strolls through the room. And the whole room is stirred. I may never find my calm when her beauty is near. But where has she gone now. Her thin legs carry her in black tights. With a stack of DVDs she sits at the desk to work. Her hair is straighter today. But her bangs still hang over her forehead. In the cute Carly Rae Jepsen Style. And now she sits at the desk, behind the monitor. The large black square blocking my view. I can see her arms. And a grey shirt under her sweater. She is like a dream. She wraps a thick grey scarf around her neck. If only there were no monitor. If only there were no library. Just me and her at a fine dinner. But I can only dream about women like her. Such simple beauty. Such calm poise. Could I even look at a plate of food with her across the table. She walks firmly with hands at her sides. She has on cute brown leather shoes. But she is back at her desk behind the screen. Her hair is a brown curtain hiding her pretty neck. A young boy asks her for help.

Outside the trees are calm again. There is no one else at the table. A woman walks past. A man browses CDs. While another man asks for help finding a book. She is standing now, her arms are strong. A small black bracelet on one wrist. Her dark eyes and plastic rimmed glasses are full of beauty. She is walking around helping patrons. Her voice is so sexy. It is hard to find the right words. She is helping an older man. Her slim fingers dance on the keyboard. She has a ring on her right hand today. She flips her hair as she goes back to her focus.

The library is quiet today. A blonde woman looks at books. A thin creme colored sweater over her shoulders. She walks around and to another part of the library. The young male librarian is here now. The woman in the creme sweater walks with a book discovery. The hot librarian takes a note of a slip of scratch paper. And the sun shines on the white wall outside. These are all the moments of life. Pieces of color in our world. Getting up she struts to the front desk. There is a perfection in her every move. Every moment is perfect if you understand it right. The moment she walks back to push chairs under the table is perfect. The moment the man picks a DVD to examine from the shelf. Now she makes the shelves tidy. And straightens out the children’s table. Her lose grey sweater has large short sleeves. They hang open just above her sharp elbow. The muscles in her forearm can be seen as she moves.

Outside there is a calm stir. The woman in creme reads next to the window. The words “Good” and “Cheap” can be read on the cover of what she reads. A larger woman with short dark hair crosses in front of the window. An older woman with black capris walks by inside. The librarian is at the desk on her computer. ANd the sun shines on the white wall outside.

A man in a shirt shirt examines DVDs. He looks at their covers with a lens. Holding the DVD in one firm hand. With the lens close to his eye in the other. He wears a bight red T-shirt and blue jeans.Resting on top of his head are sunglasses. They rest on his light brown hair. He would appear to be in his 50s. At the help desk the librarian helps him check out his books. Her slightly plump pretty lips forming a smile. And then a bigger smile showing her white teeth. She talks with her hands to the other librarian. The younger man. He is taking over the desk and she is off to some other region.

A woman in tight dark blue jeans walks past. She sits at the table next to a child. Her hair is braided back neatly. She holds a book in one hand and a cellphone in the other. She wears brown leather boots. She is young, but she is also a mother. Her daughter sits at the children’s table. Sitting down she thumbs her phone. And then picks up the book to read. She wears a brown blouse, with an sleek neckline. The sleeves are cut just below her elbow. Now she goes to the bathroom with her daughter, while her son continues to use a tablet at the table.

There is no one at the help desk. The two monitors sit un-used.

The woman in the creme sweater sits at the table. She has thin pretty arms. The sleeves of her sweater flow to her mid-forearm. A sliver ring is on her middle finger of her left hand. She reads a book with an orange cover. The young librarian helps a woman at the help desk. The librarian is wearing a bold blue dress shirt. And he has gone to straighten DVDs on the shelf.

The blonde woman still sits across from me. She rests her hand next to her face. Absorbed in the book she turns the pages. It rests in one hand. Her fingers rest is a lose fist waiting to turn the page. Her bangs have a curl, and they slip over her face. Thin eyebrows match the color of her hair. Here eyes are focused.

A man sits down to vote. His phone in one hand he ready the ballot. He has dark and short curly hair. He checks out the blonde. Then puts down his phone and blows his nose. The blonde woman puts the book on the table. She leans the side of her face into her right hand. Her finger nails are neat, but not long or showy. She has a simple beauty. The man is still trying to vote. He has his phone in hand. And now the woman takes out her phone. It has a blue plastic case. The man hasn’t made any choices yet. Is he doing research on his phone. A pen lingers in on hand.

The blonde goes on reading her book. She looks up with her pale blue eyes. The back to her book. The man has started voting. Still holding his phone. He wears thin wire frame glasses. They are dark like the stubble on his face. His light T-Shirt is a maroon color. He is focused on his phone. Another man next to me sits down to vote. He lays out the ballot out on the table and pulls a pen from his bag. The woman reads her book. And the sun shines on the wall outside. But a shadow is creeping up the wall now.


Her shirt is bright blue. A deep sea blue. The pretties blue of all. Small plastic blue buttons hold it closed. And small pockets are on the front. They are cute but useless. The sleeves are rolled just below her elbow. A strap and a button holding them. With her long white arms she fidgets with the cord to her ear buds. They are white, and small and round. She works on her laptop. While she looks young, at the same time her has an air about her. As she scratches her head. Long dirty blonde hair is tied back. Something about her suggests she is older than she looks. Her iPhone sits next to her laptop. Her eyes are focused on her work. The lids slightly closed. The eye brows arched as she considers something. There is a ring on her left hand. Her fingers slow as they tap. Neat and pretty nails at the end of each finger. But not painted nails. They are natural. She puts off an air of naturalness. Her face is round and pretty. Lips in a smooth line. Not a smile, but a look of focus. She wears gold loop earrings. They are large and thin, hanging down to her shoulders. More like tear drop shapes than loops. She has no ring on her left hand. She rests her face in it now. As her right hand strokes the touch pad. On her right hand are two thin bracelets. Her dark eyes are concerned. They focus tight and relax. Just to do it all over again. Her hair is coming lose from the ties. One by one the strands slop out. A few rouge strands are bunched together. They hang down in front of her shoulder. As she reads and nibbles on a nail. Then goes back to typing. There is sadness in the curve of her lips, and the round of her chin. Her fingers have paused for the moment. But thoughts races across her forehead. You can see them in the lines.

The library is sunny today. Outside the weather is warmer. Inside the air is on. But it isn’t that warm yet. Tree branches and leaves dance in the wind. A small white car drives by on the street. The sky is so blue, only small white clouds dot the space. A light blue, much lighter than the blue of the woman’s shirt. The tree leaves are a rich green. They back in the rays of the sun. Hundreds and hundreds of natural sunbathers taking in the heat of the sun. Drinking in its energy. This is a great mid-spring day for a walk about town.

She takes up her bottle and drinks fully. Placing the bottle back she types with ease. Fingers moving across letters. Words coming into form from her mind. She picks up phone. She is a woman attempting to live her life. Like all of us with the struggles it holds. We each have our own challenges. And we all try our best to overcome. But the best for some of us is not as good as our best. And our best is not as good as what many others can achieve. We are all pilgrims on the same journey. Do not judge your fellow traveler. Help them instead. When you can, where you can, how you can.

Putting the phone down her pretty fingers go back to work. There is a deep beauty about her. Like the deep blue of her shirt. A lose glamour like the lose threads of her hair. Natural like her nails. But also sad like the round tension on her chin. We are all these things, she is all of us. I want to know this woman, but I am this woman. I am the man in the white shirt next to her. Slightly over-weight and listening to library headphones. The woman stares into the distance for a moment. Lost in thought maybe. But goes back to her project. There is something deep in the dark of her eyes. Like the night. Chill like the wind. Lost like a child, which we all are inside. She is typing faster now. Her lips firm and thin as she sighs and goes on. Her ear rings glimmer in the library light.

The library is full today. A older woman talks to the librarian. While a man looks at CDs. Three people browse the New Books rack. And a mailman uses the internet express computer. But I haven’t seen the library beauty this week. She might be in the backroom. Toilets flush in the bathroom. The two male librarians confer about an issue. The mailman has printed something and gets up. The man in the white shirt focuses on his screen. He is chewing gum, or eating. He is balding, a few strands lay over the top of his head. A young male looks at children’s books. And the woman is still typing and working.

She takes a break to stretch her fingers. But just for a moment, and then back to work. This is a project of importance. You can see it in her frown. By a tension in her shoulders. By the firm lines of her lips. And her eyes ask a question. What is so worrisome for the woman? What are the struggles which take her smile away. She looks away at the wall and sighs a tired breath.

Everyone has gone now. It is me, the man in white and the woman. The librarian fishes behind a large bookcase with a pole. He is attempting to pull out signs.

The woman is getting more tired. She rubs her lips with one finger. Then goes back to typing. Rolling her lips over each other. The librarian has got his signs and left. The woman types one key and stops. As she scratches her head, more hair slops out. The librarian has come back with a rag. Now he fishes out the dust behind the bookcase. The library air is silent. Noise from the street leaks into the room. A small boy loudly asks for help from the librarian. He is 9, and his name is Owen he states.

The woman wraps up her headphones. Packs up her laptop and her phone. She takes her small brown fabric bag and leaves. The slightly over-weight man in the white shirt remains. The boy is with his mother now. A woman looks at movies. The table is empty of people. I have been here for almost an hour now. The weather is calling for me to stroll along the street. Take a moment to breath the fresh air.

The Library

She has on a light fabric. It is black with an interlacing white pattern. The sleeves short on her arms. They fall just below the elbow. An easy V shaped cut around the neck. It is a casual dress top. Which could be worn to a nice dinner. She rest her chin on her palm. Turning it over and staring at the screen. Her deep blue eyes absorbed in their task.  One hand scratches her neck. The other rests on her keyboard. Ready to type. Her eyes are tired. The lids sag as she struggles for focus. Net brown hair is tied back. Slipping out to fall softly behind her ears. She rests her sunglasses on her head. Her lips are tired but look strong. They have been firm for too long. She has delicate white arms. But solid. Under her pale skin are the thin blue lines of blood. She continues to read from her laptop. It is a rather large grey Dell.

Next to me a younger man sits. His unruly hair waves as he shakes his head. He is listening to music. And working on his laptop. Fat headphone sit over his mop of hair. This hair is wrapped in a blue bandanna. He wears a short-sleeve T-shirt. It is red,

The woman looks tired. Like she is about to nod out. But she keeps up the vigil of work. A tight fist holding up her chin. Her fingers rest on the keyboard as she zones into the screen. But now she is typing with both hands. Just for a moment. Her long lashes can be seen as her lids slip closed.

The young man puts away his laptop. In his blue jeans he packs and leaves. It is just me and the woman now. She rests a finger on her upper lip. Her eyes move back and forth slowly. Staying awake right now appears to be a real effort. But for a moment she seems more alert.

Her fingers are thin and precious. There are no rings. But it is time to leave. She takes her red bag from under the table. Closing her laptop she gets ready to go. But she is looking at magazines first. The thin black fabric is a full dress. It falls just above her knees. As she walks away her strong legs are visible. She has flat brown leather shoes on her feet. She browses from the New Book rack.

Now there is no one else at the table. I haven’t seen the hot girl here today. Outside the sun is shinning and the air is fresh. In a room people clap for poets. I’d join them but the sun is calling my name. And the fresh air beckons to me.

There are rarely so few people in the library. It must be the sun has called others to the outdoors as well. The woman looks at DVDs. Her brown hair is short. Cut just above her shoulders. She rounds the corner to look at other books.

She passes again behind me as she leaves. She walks with a tired purpose. Like a person who knows where they are going.  But is sure they don’t want to go there. A person putting off what can’t be avoided.

A man is helping his son find something on the computer. The boy with a tangle of hair and the man with a sharp cut. He is focused. While his son seems restless. He fidgets and loses focus. He has sat down and stares out the window. He wears a bright blue shirt. It proclaims, “I (heart) Bacon.” But the heart is an egg in the shape of a heart. The father has long fingers which he uses on the mouse. They get up together to look for more books.

Once again it is just me at the table. I sit and write while the sun shines down outside. The crowd in the other room claps. Soon I shall join the birds and the fresh air in the sunlight. A young woman with deep focused eyes walked in. She wears a thin grey T-shirt. And red shorts of a thin nylon material. Her light brown hair is tied in a neat bun. It rests on the top of her head. She wears black flip-flops. A small sharp cute nose and pretty eyes. Her face in young and unmarked by lines. Her crisp chin line above a slim neckline. Her T-Shirt has a pretty neckline cut. The grey has small black dots across the material. She talks on a phone with a gold case. Her short nails are dark blue. She looks down and holds her lips firm. The thin lines of her eye browns are echoed in the line of her collar bones.

The hair bunched in a bun rests on top her head. It appears to be medium length. It is tied up with an old white hair tie. She looks away for a moment deep in thought. Her eyes are deep and brown. Like the souls of people in love. But she is not in love today. Distracted by magazines, she is waiting on the computer to be ready for her. She has come here to print something. She scratched her head with thin fingers. Swallows and again looks to the door. Is she expecting someone to arrive?

She is making progress. Getting up from the computer on her shoulders rest the straps to her bag. She has small cute ears. Her hair swept back neatly into the bun. She pays the machine for her prints. The woman in young, maybe in her 20s. With the body of a young college student. She watches the printer as it spits out paper. She has a moment to smile. But soon is re-focused and sharp eyed. With her project done she takes her exit. Stopping to view some books along the way. Now she is walking back into the corner. She has gone out of view with her lithe frame. And has now returned.

The Library

I hear her. A voice floating through the air. It is like butterflies. Or rainbows. Like a shooting star. And then it is gone.

The library is quiet today. A man in his thirties watches cat videos on his iPad. A smile breaks across his face. The light blonde hair is cut short. But has the wavy curls of a toddler. Next to him sits a black bag. Its yellow letters spell out: Evolution Kills. Dinosaurs are shown turning into birds. Then into chickens and dinner. He is wearing a light blue dress shirt. Buttoned up neatly. He has a young face. But an air of being older.

Next to me sits on older man. His dark skin suggests his family came from India. He reads the economist. After putting aside USA Today. The man’s white hair is combed back. It flows straight back from his face. Which is framed by a pair of glasses. Their gold rims shine against his dark skin. He wears a black sweatshirt. Under which is a turquoise shirt. He holds the magazine at the tops of the pages. One side in each hand. Switching the page from one hand to the other.

I haven’t seen the hot librarian. Another balder librarian is here today. He wanders around. Looks out the window as cars rev their engines. Paces like a cat waiting for you to leave the room. The bus stops outside the window, and the blonde man looks. Then goes back to what appears to be Twitter. People still use Twitter.

Just the three of us sit at the table. A man walks by the window in a dark coat. The librarian talks on the phone. He rolls his eyes under his dark rimmed glasses. They sit thick on his face. There is a shine from the lights on his head. He wears a blue plaid pattered dress shirt. LIke a picnic table. Where is the hot librarian?

A young girl uses one of the children’s computers. Where is her mommy? She jams her hand like listening to music. On her head are the giant library headphones. A man browses the staff picks section.

The librarian has gone back to pacing. Now walking away. A young woman in black leggings walks past. And like a moment she is gone.

The man from India puts away the magazine. And gathers a new newspaper. Now he reading the Wall Street Journal. The woman in black leggings walks past again.

The table itself sits in the center of the room. Down the middle are open slots. They could be used to store power outlets. But they are not. At the other table in the corner you can plug in a laptop. It is actually two tables next to each other. At the one I sit with the two men. At the other is a set of four computers. They are used for short-term internet. But also printing and catalog. The young woman is walking past the window outside.

At the library desk the man is replaced. An older woman with short hair takes over. She wears a dark coat and blue jeans. A dark shade of denim. They look new. She is checking out a problem with a computer. Then goes to chatting with an older lady in an orange hat. The librarian fidgets with her fingers. The lady in the hat leans on the desk.

The older man has gone, and the young man has pulled out a Steven King novel. It is a library book. It has the library branded on the side of the pages. He is about a third of the way through the book. The librarian is back and working on the computer. A man in a grey hat browses the new book rack. And the young man puts the book away and goes back to his iPad. It looks like he is on Facebook.

The library windows are full of light today. Outside a gentle breeze blows the tree tops around. A young person is browsing the magazing rack. The young girl and her mother leave together. The blonde man puts away his iPad, pushes in his chair. He puts on a light Oregon State sweat shirt. Then leaves. Another woman has come into the library. She has a young pretty face. After stopping at a catalog computer. She goes hunting for a book. With book in hand she returns and makes her exit.

The library feel empty. But I can hear doors closing. And toilets flushing. “Dad,” a young boy calls his father. His younger brother lags behind. As the other boy rushes ahead. The younger has hands in pockets. He checks things out and walks slow. The older boy exclaims to his dad. “I know this one,” and is excited about other titles. The boy loves books. This much is clear.

Sometimes my wrists get sore from typing. But mostly me right wrist. The one I hit delete with a thousand times a second. Because after all these years I still don’t know how to type. And so I have to stop and fix almost every other word. I wonder at times if I had paid more attention in school. Would I be a better typer now. Or would I have learned by now if I was ever going to learn. Le sigh.

Outside the sun is fading as the day comes to a close. The librarian processes stacks of books. Children share joy with a father in the corner. A work of art on the wall shows a man.

His image is on a yellow background. His hair a multi-coloured pattern. The skin on his face a shade between blue and green. His eyes are orange. All over his shirt and face are what appear to be paint smudges. This is a painting of a painter. Maybe the artist. Maybe it isn’t a man.

The short yellow pencils sit in their dish. Small like golf stubs. Are they for short notes? They must be cheaper, for the many times they are stolen. Sometimes just by forgetful people. Leaning in with the pencils are small papers. Blank on both sides, large enough for a note. They have no lines. Like the empty faces of youth. The library is so quiet today. And it feels calm. The air turns on with a strong hum. The librarian paces around the empty desk. Then slides chairs under the empty table.

The Library

I am in the corner at the library. Outside is the street. The two yellow lines run down the middle. When driving it is easy to think of them as one line. The library is crowded and loud today. There is an event. I saw the hot librarian at the front desk. Her smile was the only sunshine in the room. Back in the corner four guys and me work on computers. Across from me sits an older man. His hair white and combed back. While listening to music on an iPod he does work on an iBook. He wears plastic rimmed glasses with dark frames. The man types slowly. His hands are large and firm. They look like the hands of a worker. They look strong. Large square finger tips landing on the small keys of the laptop. The mouse shrinks under the grasp. He is right-handed. He wears a button up shirt of white and brown stripes. While he focuses on the screen. His hand moves the mouse gently. A woman has returned to sit next to me. Her things have been waiting in her absence. Thin and younger she wears a light brown sweater. It is ideal for the grey weather. On her left hand is a small silver ring. Which hints to her being married. But it is simple. And could just be a ring. She wears black plastic rimmed glasses. Which frame her cute small face. There is a green star tattooed behind her ear. A solid star shaded in with green. Then another on her right wrist. This one is made of thick open lines. A phone in one hand and the mouse in another. She appears to be in her 20s or 30s. Maybe I am trying to imagine her older. She appears to be in her 20s. And focused on her work. A notebook sits between us. Her hair sits in a tight bun on the top of her head. She arches her eyebrows as she surfs the web. On the other side of the room children sing happy birthday. Then clutter about for cake. The young woman is getting together her things. She rises and walks away. But she will be back. Once again her things are waiting for her. She walks smoothly in a long black pencil skirt. Young strong legs under thin fabric. The older man across from me takes to reading People magazine. An older woman has joined us at the other end of the table. With bold white hair flowing down to her shoulders. A thin brown blouse and blue jeans. In the girl’s notebook is a daily plan for yoga. She has the body of someone who does a lot of yoga. But she hasn’t come back yet. Outside the sky remains grey but it hasn’t started to rain. In a short while if it doesn’t rain I will try and take a short hike. I might go on a new trail today. Behind me is a woman with a yellow plastic bat. Wearing a red sweatshirt. She walks the library looking at books. She places the plastic bat in a brown paper bag from Food Front. She wears blue jeans and brown shoes. The young woman has come back with cake from the birthday party. It is for a children’s book author. There is also graham crackers and grapes on her plate. She takes a bite and returns to her computer work. Her delicate fingers pick at the grapes. and white her mouth with a white napkin. She has soft and round lips. The kind movie stars need to pay to achieve. Though her fingers are slim they show strength as she grips the mouse. We all have so many untold stories don’t we. I wonder what the stories are she could share. Across from me the older man with the white hair still sits. The magazine has been put down and he is working on his laptop. Now the crackers give way under her firm grasp. Broke in half they follow the fate of the grapes. Now she looks down at her phone. And you can see she has a small cute nose. The cake remains on her plate. As her fingers go back to work. It is chocolate cake. The icing is white. And there is a filling of strawberry, or raspberry. Now she shifts her focus back to her phone. Outside the breeze blows the trees in a gentle wave. The lose shape of the sweater doesn’t hide her small curves. She texts with one finger in a swiping motion. Now to softly typing on the keyboard. She types with a smooth pace. Fast and sure about her movements. You can hear the sounds of play. On the other side of the library they have eaten too much cake. And now they are full of energy and noise. Next to me the young woman slowly eats her own cake. The sound level in the library is rising fast. With a slow last bite the cake is gone. She licks her round lips and returns to her work. It is harder and harder to focus. Outside a small family walks by the window. Inside the older man has got up from his chair. The woman goes on working. She rests her hand on her chin. Then goes back to rapidly typing on her computer. In the distance I can see the hot librarian. She isn’t wearing as much black today. Her hair hangs lose down past her shoulders. Long dark waves of curls. Her bangs dip almost into her eyes. The young woman has got a call and walked away to talk. Her thin shape moves under the fabric of her skirt. She’s back. Almost as quick as she left. And she hammers out a message to a friend on Facebook. The strong firm taps of the keyboard ring with feeling. Maybe it was a good phone call. The older man across from me is back. We are all sitting her together. And there is no connection. Sometimes the togetherness of public spaces is strange. The young woman takes her phone, her notebook and abandons the library. Over her brown sweater she pops a black one. And adds a grey scarf. Then turns and makes her exit. I shall follow to my own purposes.

The Library

A woman in a striped dress is at the computer across from me. It is a light summer dress. The V shaped stripes meet in the middle of her body. The small straps to the dress share the black and white stripes. Her short hair is up in a pony tail. Her eyes are focused on her the computer. A library computer. She appears to be in her 40s. Under the dress she is wearing black tights on her legs. Getting up she walks around the library. Then sits back down. Her eyes are tired. And he mouth shows a life of hard times. Thin arms end in hands rough with age. Her hands appear older than her face. The woman is back working on the computer. Typing away with her long fingers. Her short hair is blonde. Bangs fall lightly across her forehead. There is no one else for her in the room. Just the project taking all her focus. Her pale skin has a natural beauty. But her neck muscles show tension. And her firm jaw shows a strength developed over time. There are not deep wrinkles on her face. Though she has frown lines, which tell a story of life. Her shoulders are firm. But weak at the same time. You can see her collar bones under the skin. The look on her face is determined. She rests her hands in her lap. The slant of her shoulder softens. Her arms have a fragile beauty. Like a flower. As she looks at the screen a depth is clear in her eyes. Those eyes have seen a lot of things in life. And now they are working on the next problem. Behind those eyes is a mind which has struggled. A mind which may be tired. They are blue. Looking around the room she takes in the people at the library. The square top of the dress frames her shoulders. They are only ever so slightly hunched in. Protective of a heart full of love. Where is this woman going and what are the struggles she faces today. Her dark painted fingers are typing again. Her nails are painted a dark colour. A shade between brown and red. Under the cold surface of her eyes. There is a hint of tenderness. Like someone who works to be hard. But is ready to open up to be soft and caring. All they need is the right moment, the right words. The right person. Does she have the right person in her life? She stretches her long arms, twists her body and gets up from the computer. She is tall for a woman. Putting on her light grey leather jacket she leaves. Her shoes are flats in a shade of gold.

Two other men sit at the table with me now. One is reading the newspaper. The other a magazine. He makes a snoring noise though he is awake. But now he puts the magazines away. The other man’s newspaper crinkles in his hand. The snorer leaves. A newspaper reading man is older. Is wears a dress shirt with a blue and white pattern. He is reading The Wall Street Journal. On the back page is an ad for Samsung phones.

I don’t see the hot librarian here today. It is early in the day for me. The sun hasn’t gone down yet. Due in part to daylight savings time. Outside a bus engine roars as it takes off from the corner. There is a hum and bustle in the library. Books shuffle, papers rustle and people talk softly. A young boy is looking at CDs. After he leaves the librarian comes to put CDs away. And to straighten out others.

The librarian is wearing a Fedora style hat. And a light purple dress shirt with no tie. His sleeves are rolled above his elbows. The hat matches his short cut and young looking face. He is wearing grey slacks. And a black leather belt. He has a bright smile. It beams a friendly energy. While talking to co-workers he crosses his arms.

The older man reading the paper has his phone out. It is makes a quiet clicking noise. Click, click, click as he touches the screen. Now he puts it in his pocket. Picking up the paper he goes back to reading. Someone is scuffing their feet as they walk. A woman with glasses sits at the end of the table.

Her glasses have a leopard patter on the arm. The black dots on a pink background. She wears a light grey sweater. Her pants are dark brown with light stripes. They run down the leg of the pants. Her thin lips are set with focus. But now she turns sideways and stands to leave. She is printing something.


There is a man sitting next to me. He is wearing a sweat shirt from Humboldt. It reads Humboldt State. A green John Deere hat is pulled down. Covering his face as he looks down. He is reading the comics.

The Hot Librarian is at the desk. Today she is wearing a black coat. She has a grey top on underneath. Her hair to loose. It falls around her shoulders. And over a grey scarf. A young boy asks for help finding a book. And her swift beautiful fingers go to work.

I wonder if the man went to Humboldt. Maybe the sweat shirt was found. Or given to him. Maybe a child went to college in Arcata.

A line is forming at the desk. The Hot Librarian has such an amazing smile. Her beauty has such a natural quality. She is naturally helpful. And friendly.

The man next to me has turned to reading the TV timetable. There is a certain odor in the air today.

Across from me another man is reading Rolling Stone. David Bowie is on the cover. The man’s sleeves are pulled back. He is wearing a black jacket. Under which a black top peeks out. The man focuses on his reading through thin rimmed glasses.

The Hot Librarian has left the desk to “Dan.”

A man who looks like he is in business sits across the table. He has an iPad and is looking at his phone. His graying hair is neatly combed and trim. He wears a grey suit. A white shirt and a tie. There is a gold band on his ring finger. In front of him is his iPad. But also a folio with a notepad.

The Hot Librarian is back. Both the other men have left the table. I am here early today. With her slim fingers she goes back to work on the keyboard. I try to watch without watching. To stare without staring. Her grey top is long and loose. It falls past her waist and over black leggings. She has brown leather shoes with buckles. When she focuses she gets a stern expression. The eyes are fixed and the lips are straight. She takes her job serious. Helping patrons find what they are seeking.

The married businessman is still messing with his phone. Do people feel me watching them? Sometimes when I peek at the Hot Librarian she seems to be peeking at me. Not in the same way. But like she is looking to see if I am looking. When I got here today I smiled at her and waved. She probably remembers me from being in here before.

The library itself is still today. The weather wet and cold outside. A wrestling of items can be heard. Faintly mixed with quiet voices. Behind me is the hum of the copy machine. And the Hot Librarian is staying busy keeping things in order. She is wearing layers of clothing.

The young boy is waiting for her to return. Her skin is light. She has a cute short pointed nose. On which she rests her dark rimmed glasses.

An older man sits down next to me. He reads The Nation. A liberal publication. I used to read it. But it depressed me so I stopped.

The businessman is working on his iPad. Graphs and figures can be seen across the table.

The sky outside is grey. The day light filtering through clouds. A light rain has been on and off all day. Temperatures have been low.

She is back at her work station. Typing in rapid bursts. Focused on the monitor. Her lips part showing a glimpse of her teeth. She flexes her finger is a short pause. Resting her chin on her fist she reads the monitor. When Dan comes over she turns to chat. Her cute long fingers pointing. Talking to Dan, she moves her hands around. Then picks up some scrap paper.

The married man is taking notes in his pad. Then picks up his phone. He is now browsing CDs of music.

The Librarian is helping an older woman. The woman in a long black coat has a purple hat. The knit cap is rolled around the edges. And She goes to get a book for the lady.

I am the only person at the table now. The businessman’t things sit in front of his empty chair. Pages from a newspaper rest in the middle of the table. A plastic case sits off-center. In it are scraps of paper and short pencils. One of the pencils lays on the table.

She is putting her hair up in a small bun. It sits at the back of her head. Her thin neck is visible under the grey scarf. Her jaws firm and set as she gets to work. She has an earring in her ear. A barely noticeable sparkle next to the gleam in her eyes.

The businessman has sat down again. But is not getting his things. Pushing in the chair he makes his exit.

The clicking noise of Her scrolling the mouse can be heard. The library is calm. Books shuffle, voices murmur. The alarms beeps sharp and short. Again I am alone at the table. There are two librarians at the desk. Dan and Her. Dan appears to be late twenties or early thirties. She may be in her thirties as well. Though I have thought she was younger before.

Her fingers pause and the keyboard. A thought on her mind. The screen in front of her holds her attention. The man with no personality walks by the table.

There are now three other people at the table. An older black man reads a book. His short curly hair is gray at the tips. He leans over the book and reads through sunglasses. Wearing a grey Nike sweatshirt, his long fingers turn the pages.

Next to him a younger white male uses a laptop. With headphones on he scribbles in a notebook. He has trim brown hair. And is wearing a plaid patterned shirt. His right hand writes as his head bops to the music.

Dan has left the desk. It is now another younger male. He is helping a woman in a puffy mauve coat. It is an ugly color for a coat.

Next to me the third of the men is reading The Economist. He has a shaved head. His knit cap rest next to him on the table. He wears blue jeans and a long-sleeve green top. His face shows signs of not shaving. One hand rests near his forehead. He looks down at the magazine and the other arm rest on the table. His hand hangs off the edge.

A line has formed at the desk. More people are coming into the library. A blonde woman is confused on how to print. And I a man with a walking stick holds a book on knives. This older man could be homeless. He rests his backpack on the ground and pulls up a chair. The line for the desk is longer. A woman needs help with the copier. Are they calling Her out to help?

They did. Her hair is down again. The lanyard resting on top of her strands. She checks out the line at the desk and goes to the back again. Her voice is so amazing. And now she is gone again.

The man across from me is reading a book about the Netherlands. And the one next to me is still reading his magazine. A young woman looks at magazines behind me. Long blonde hair and a thin purple coat.

And She is back. Helping a tall man in a green and grey jacket. She smiles and hands him a clip board. The young blonde has gone. I can’t see her, but I can hear her typing. There has been a slight rush at the library. She is helping him to use a computer for the internet.

She fidgets her fingers under the desk. Waves as a patron entering the library and waits for the younger male to finish. She seems restless. Wanting to get to something she is working on in the back room. Then she moves with a clear purpose to the other corner. Like a ninja she moves swift and straight. Another woman comes up needing assistance.

The African-American man across from me gets a book on the Masai people. He is pulling books out of the Junior Reader section.

The woman at the desk has a long black coat. It falls almost to the floor. She is looking for information about federal grants. I think being a librarian would be a fun job.

But now the Hot One is gone. Away to some other place.

(I think I got her name: Hannah)


The Hot Librarian is at the desk today. She has her hair tied back in a pony tail. Wearing a long-sleeve maroon shirt. Over which her puffy jacket vest. Right now she is talking to two patrons. How can I focus on anything else. I don’t have a clear view of her. But I did when I sat down. We exchanged “hellos.” My hands feel like they can’t type today. Now she walked away to help a young girl. The Maroon colored top extends past her waist. It may be a dress. She has a grey scarf around her neck. Now she is helping a male patron. He has dark hair, a dark mustache. He is wearing a light blue dress shirt, and blue jeans. If only I needed help, I could talk to her. I could make something up. But I would feel so nervous about lying it just wouldn’t work. It would be like the song about the guy who calls the operator. She is drinking out of a mug. She is talking to a woman in a blue sweat jacket. The woman has blonde hair, tied back in a bun. Oh here come the other librarian. Does this mean the hot one is leaving? I hope not. The blonde has small earrings. A friend is waiting as she chats. Her friend has long brown hair. Down around her shoulders. She is wearing a green jacket, army green. I goes down past her waist. She is browsing books while she waits. Walking around with her hands behind her back. She looks like she is ready to leave. She has a friendly face. In the front of her jacket are two big pockets. The hot librarian is still chatting with the blonde woman. She fidgets with her hands. She wears a ring on her right hand – on the finger of Apollo. She had such cute lips. And sexy dark rimmed glasses. The other librarian is back and also chatting with the blonde. The hot librarian likes talking with her hands. The brown hair friend is standing near. She has on slim brown pants. Now she has walked away. The sleeves of the Hot One are rolled. Pulled back from her delicate hands. Her banks hang down just above the rims of her glasses. They cover her brown eyebrows. Her hair appears to be a natural dark brown color. From my perspective it is hard to see its length. The hot librarians hands rest on her keyboard. Like she has work her mind is thinking about getting done. But she continues to chat with the blonde. Her dark eyes are focused on her screen. The blonde is named Katrina. The Hot One has a badge on a lanyard around her neck. It has a photo of her. In the photo her hair is lighter, almost with a red shade. But her bangs are styled the same. She has delicate wrists. Visible under her shirt as she points something out to Katrina. The blonde woman is talking about buying white boards. They are looking up something online. Exchanging email addresses. Her friend is still waiting. She wears light brown leather boots. The fit under her dark brown pants. At this point she appears to me to be more than ready to go. The Hot One is picking up movies. An older man has sat down across from me. He leans over the newspaper. Now I can see the Hot Librarian’s amazing smile as she stands between the monitors. But she has returned to typing and hiding behind the screen. The older man is reading from The Wall Street Journal. Now the Hot One is talking to a younger male library worker. On her right hand she has a ring on her ring finger. Could she be married. I wouldn’t be surprised. She is going into a drawer, and pulling out some papers. Her fingers rest for a moment on the desk. Katrina is back. The Hot One has such a happy and bubbly personality. No the ring on her left hand is on the middle finger. Her white mug says “The Terrible Two.” Now she is helping a patron who is looking for something. But the other librarian went to search. Her hands look so soft and pretty. Next to me a young girl is reading a magazine. I hardly noticed she sat down. She appears to be in her teens. I still can’t tell where the ring is on her left hand. She is fidgeting with the ring. It is on her middle finger. Not her ring finger, so she may not be married. She is writing on a clipboard. She just saw me looking at her. And is chatting with the fellow librarian. They are walking away from the desk together. She has on light brown leather boots with heels. No one is at the desk now. Will she return? The girl next to me is playing with her cellphone. Looking up music maybe. She has on headphones. The young male librarian has come back to the desk. He is wearing a white dress shirt with red stripes. He is helping an older female patron. At the children’s table a man in a blue dress shirt leans on a chair. She has returned. Try not to stare. She is at the other computer. I can see her name badge more clearly. But she has walked away again. The man in the blue shirt leans on a chair. In the chair a young boy is using a tablet and wearing headphones. The man is doing something with his cellphone. I heard her walking behind me. I knew it was her. She has a movie cover in her hand. Now she is walking to the back office. The man is helping the boy with something on the tablet. Or the boy is sharing something with the man. The older man across from me continues his reading. The young girl has left. To my left is a woman with a pink knit hat. She is using one of the express internet terminals. You only get 15 minutes. She is wearing a black puffy coat with long sleeves. Her thin hands typing away on the keyboard. Her fingers long and white. The keys are square and black. I may have seen the last of the Hot One for today. The younger male librarian has taken over the desk. Outside it is getting dark. Without the Hot One in view there is little to write about inside. At the children’s table a woman is checking the catalog. She gets up. The woman wears a purple jacket. The man with no personality is here. He has a strange pattern on his dress shirt. And blue jeans. The young librarian is at the desk. The one with the red-stripped shirt. His name is Nicholes. The older man goes on reading across from me. The children have left. And so has the woman in the purple coat. Where did the Hot One go? There are few sounds right now. Typing and books on shelves. Someone put a sticker of a smiley face on the computer monitor across from me. The lights on the inside begin to reflect on the windows as it darkens outside. The older man tucks away his newspaper and gets up to go. Now I am mostly alone. And my computer is being slow. A librarian in a white dress shirt has come out. The shirt has blue stripes in a square pattern. The man is balding. Has dark rimmed glasses. But he has now left the desk. Maybe I should post this soon. And do something else. Look for material for tonight poetry reading. Or I could go and not read. I am not sure I am in a reading mood. It is harder and harder to see out the windows. A man near the children’s table watches a boy. He has on a dark grey sweatshirt. Rugged blue jeans and boots complete the picture. The boy is using a computer. A rugged man with grey hair is looking at movies. He wears a dark jacket. Black jeans and leather hiking boots. A younger woman joins him. The browse the same section. But separately. What is the job of a librarian. Helping people find books. Looking up things online. I wonder what the young man at the desk is doing now. Work research. Just surfing the web waiting for someone to need help. Thinking about the hot girl he works along side. I shouldn’t call her a girl. She seems to be young. Her energy is young. But she could be in her 30s. I think it is time to post this and move on to something else.


It has been a while since I have been at the library. I have less than an hour. Maybe I can finish things at the other library. Today there are two men at the  table. Both older.

One has a shaggy beard. The brown of the beard matches his hair. But a shade lighter. He is using a small laptop. The man is wearing a moss green jacket. Like an army jacket. Or outdoor wear. Under which is a shirt, of matching color. But it also has plaid stripes.

Next to the man’s laptop is a small black case. With a large pocket for the laptop. And two pockets on the side for other things. Maybe the power cord.

The green-jacketed man is using the computer quietly. Browsing an unknown website. The other man has headphones. He is using a library laptop. A Chromebook lent to patrons for use in the library.

This man has a growing bald patch. But it is just beginning. Dark wire rimmed glasses rest on a clean shaven face. By the movement of his head he appears to be listening to music. He is using laptop number 38.

He has a Columbia Wear fleece coat on, zipped up to the collar. It is a shade between gray and green. He is focused on his task and his music. He appears to be in his 50s. While the other man appears to be in his 30s.

Under the sleeve of the mans gray jacket a watch is visible. His fingers are long and don’t show signs of hard labor. His nails are neat, clean and trimmed. There is a delicacy to his hand. And their movement on the mouse. The other man’s hands are larger, more rugged. They have more hair. A dark hair.

The two men seem unaware of each other. And unaware of myself. In the library a rustle of conversation can be heard. Behind me a librarian performs tasks on a computer.

She appears to be in her 40s, but she has dyed pink hair. Just strands. Her face is hidden behind the monitor from my perspective. I am sitting facing the wall. I prefer to face the window for the view. But the two men are taking up both those chairs. I haven’t seen or heard the hot librarian today. Last time I was here I spoke to her on the way out.

It was small talk. What do you say to someone you don’t know. Someone you think is hot. Hey, want to come over and get to know each other. I’m not a lecher. But I don’t know how to talk to anyone.

I can hear the typing of the librarian. The man with the green jacket sniffles. The other man clicks his mouse. Footsteps make their way across the back of the library. And a woman unzips her coat walking behind me.

She is browsing the New Books shelf. Thin legs in dark jeans, with a dark nylon coat. She carries a blue backpack on one shoulder. Her dark curly hair stopping just above her shoulders. She is absorbed in a book. The librarian is typing faster. The other librarian walks out of the bathroom. This man has no personality. I had to pay a fine. I prefer to call it a donation, I told him. He had no response. How does someone like him end up working at a library. I think I would enjoy working at a library.

A woman is looking for something. And the librarians are helping her. She has a loud voice. Telling the librarian the books she is looking for are new. She is spelling out what she is looking for to the librarian.

The woman in the dark coat has put down her book. She is now browsing the shelf again.

I have about 27 minutes to write and post. The internet is shut off before the library closes. The woman looking for the book takes a magazine off the rack. She has dark skin, dark hair wrapped up in a head scarf. She has gone to another area of the library to read. I can never really see what is going on behind me. And in front of me the two men remain.

The one in the green jacket now checking his phone. The other still focused on his project. Both men still seem to have taken no notice of each other. Or of me.

Something is making an odd noise. A child can be heard asking, “what is that?” The child is near the front of the library, by the check out desk. Now I see the child behind me. Talking to his mother, she looks young. In her twenties at the oldest. She has a knit cap on. The dark color matching the color of her sweat shirt. On her legs are black and gray tights.

The bearded man picked up his laptop and left. The child is asking his mother to go home. There is now an empty seat across from me. But I prefer not to move for now.

Wait, did I just hear her voice? There is a noise like from a cutting machine. Or the shelving of books. Could she really be older than she looks. It sounds like her sexy voice. She is telling a patron the library closes at 6 p.m. I have twenty minutes. Across from me is the magazine rack with a range of titles. From The Economist for business people to Family Fun, Harpers, MAD Magazine, People and of course Portland.

Oh my, I just saw her walk by in her stylish black coat and dark pants. Her walk is so determined. Like a person focused on their destination. A busy person with a lot on her mind. She has a uniform. Not a library uniform. But a set of clothes she has found are comfortable. And which look good on her. It was just a flash, a flash in my mind. And I wait for her to walk by again.

The woman who was browsing the New Books has some titles to borrow. She makes her way to check-out to leave. The man in the fleece checks his watch. How much time do we have before we go. Sixteen minutes.

This little branch is always active, but never busy. Do I hear her voice again. Does she just show up to close the library? Is she always here and just comes out to help close? So many questions. Do I really want to know or would I rather dream about my short hot library girl? She is picking up stacks of books. Taking them to the back for sorting and reshelving?

She must have walked behind me because she went past the same shelf. And I hadn’t seen her walk passed before. The checkout is to my left and the computers to my right. Bathrooms are on the opposite side of the magazine rack.

She smiled at me, and nodded her head. I wonder if she notices me among all the people who come to the library. The strange guy checking her out. The interesting guy with his laptop. The cute guy who gives her the eye. This is all a dream world isn’t it? And I have ten minutes left.

A woman has sat down next to me. She has a brown leather purse, a black coat of soft fabric. And is reading a book. Her short hair is graying and curly.

The hot librarian just stopped to check the clock. Then entered the restroom. Her uniform is a black sleeveless coat, over a blue dress shirt. It hangs lose outside the coat and her pants. It twirls as she moves and flaps as she walks. She will emerge soon. Waiting is the hardest part.

The older lady next to me is reading. She has red plastic rimmed glasses. Along with her purse she carries a white canvass tote bag.

She has exited. She moves so fast it is hard to catch a glimpse. I still don’t know even how old she is, but she may be older than I imagined. Another librarian is putting movies away. The reading lady rest her forehead on her hands, focused on her book. Turning the page.

Her age is visible in the lines on her face.

A young woman just went into the bathroom with a lot of bags. I now have five minutes. And She announced the library closes in 15 minutes. Can I record her voice and play it back later?

Emergency vehicles drive by outside. I am going to post this so I don’t lose it.


I am at the library again. There are some children here. A younger woman is sitting across from me. Next to a young man. But they aren’t here together. I haven’t seen the hot librarian yet today.

It is cold and dark outside. But comfortable inside. A librarian is working at the desk. She has short dark hair.

The young woman across from me is wearing a bubble jacket. Her hair long and dark brown. It falls in natural un-brushed beauty. It lays on her shoulders. And flows down her breast. But not she is getting up. She pushes in the chair. And after logging out of her computer leaves.

The librarian comes and goes from the desk. She is wearing a purple coat.

The young man across from me tries to focus. He has headphones. Now he is writing in a note pad.

But focus is hard with children making noise. They get his attention. A mother is talking to her children.

The librarian has come back to the desk. She has silver clips in her hair. And silver earrings peek from under her hair. Her ID hangs from a black lanyard around her neck.

An older man is sitting down. He has a library laptop. The library loans out Chromebooks for use at the library. He is talking to himself. Whispering “okay, okay, lets see…” as he sets up the device.

Now he seems to think he can call Google by name. He is distracting the young man trying to focus.

“Do you know how many times I have done that,” he rudely asks the librarian. “Ten times maybe already.”

But he has just gotten here. And hasn’t done anything ten times. Even though was rude. The librarian helps. She lets his rude tone go.

Libraries are not quiet places. Right now I hear kids chatting. Also a mother is reading aloud.

Where is the hot librarian. I don’t see her today. The young man is working on math homework. On graph paper are geometric shapes. The older man makes noises. He hangs his head over the laptop.

The mother is leaving. She is telling her children not to leave a mess.

At the desk the librarian watches the room. A woman with a sleeping back just came in. The man is grunting. Talking under his breath. He is distracting.

The young man is using his cellphone. He looks to be absorbed in the behavior. It may be related to his homework. Or it may be something else.

The man across from me is balding. He murmurs under his breath. The young man stretches his neck and relaxes his shoulders. He is watching a video on his phone. It doesn’t look to be math related.

The library has gone quiet. Since the children left. Now only a few children remain. They are busy with tablets. There is a young boy and two young girls.

Their mother is waiting. She wears a black bubble coat. This is the right weather for a good coat.

A young patron searches for a book. He is referred to the librarian.

The young man is talking to a woman who just arrived.

“Where are we going?”

She has on a neon vest. Yellow with orange stripes. She is trying to check her email. They are talking about an interview.

The woman may be the young man’s mother. She has blonde-brown hair down her back. She wears wire rim glasses. And is using a library computer.

The mother of a young boy roams the library. She has curly hair. She tied it in a small bun on top of her head. But her hair still curls down past her shoulders. She watches her children use the library tablet. Under a thin grey sweater is a turquoise top. She has left with the boys.

The mother is searching for her phone. Her son is helping her. She just had her phone. And now it is gone. Well, this has happened to me before. It must be somewhere.

In a Voss water bottle she has tea. Now she has found her phone. And all is good in the world.

The former librarian left. A new librarian has taken her place. Susan is older. She has dark plastic rimmed glasses. Her hair is short and graying. I have seen her at the library before.

The mother and her son have not left. It is just me and the grunting man. All the children also gone.

And the young mothers gone. The library will be closing soon. Maybe at 6 p.m.

A strange man in a Christmas hat is talking to the librarian. The hat looks like the top of a brick chimney. From the top of the hat Santa’s legs are sticking out. Around the hat, “Ho Ho Ho” is written.

The man has a library ID badge. His sweater has red, white and blue stripes. But now he has walked away.

I need to remember to post this before the library turns off the internet at 10 minutes to 6 p.m.

The hot librarian is not here today. At least I have not seen her. There is a woman in a red jacket. Her jeans are a bright blue colour. Not blue like jeans. But a purer more vibrant blue. They are almost a purple colour.

A woman is at the desk. Her hair tied back in low pig tails. She wears a blue-green sweater and jeans. The jeans are tight and slim to her legs. She is wearing black shoes. The librarian is helping her locate an address.

Wait, I think I hear the hot librarian. But I could have been wrong. It could have been someone else. Someone with a sexy voice.

Maybe on the way out I will get a peak.