I love libraries.
I love my local library (well, technically it isn’t my local library, but it’s my favorite library. I don’t like the one that’s closest to my house as much as I do this one). I love its book sales, and wandering down the shelves. I love sitting cross-legged in the teen’s section, pouring over book after book, looking for ‘the one’ that captures my attention on that day.
I love that when I go to library book sales, I can get copies of my favorite books in great condition, for only a dollar or two. (Looking for Alaska, Dealing With Dragons, and Airborn, to name a few.) I love the hidden gold mines you find whilst browsing.
I love that I’m able to read anything for free, even if it does include a bit of a wait. Just the other day, I picked up the Perks of Being a Wallflower, a book I’ve been meaning to read for ages. I love that if I don’t finish a book, I can return it, free of charge. (As long as I don’t let it get overdue, that is!)
Libraries make me happy. The scent of well-loved pages makes me happy. The feel of a well-worn book makes me happy. Even those old, mangled, dog-eared, cracked-spine books make me happy.
Libraries let us read anything and everything. We can live vicariously through the lives of characters, or teach ourselves new skills, or research famous people or places.
Libraries are wonderful places, for they are thousand and one places at once. They are far-off planets, and our hometowns, Atlantis and ancient England, fantasy worlds, or our world with fantastic creatures.
I don’t understand people who don’t have a library card. With just one piece of flimsy plastic, you can go anywhere, be anything.
Why would you pass that chance up?
The Dandy Lioness