Wood, Paper, Ash, Three so prominent flavours in this dark room. All so beautiful, yet so old.
Like me.
Old. How long has it been? 71?
No, 74! Yes that's how longs it's been since I've opened this place.
This Old Bookstore full of old books, where replaced by new books, but over time now they are old. And soon they will be replaced with new ones again.
Just like Me.
Many had asked as to why I lived my life dusting old books. They'd argue that I could do better things then tend to the books in this old bookstore.
But they would be wrong. No it was never about the books. It was the people.
Yes, the people. They are the ones that carried with them new story's, new tales that can never be found and written in any memoir or textbook. Story's that are carried through simple word of mouth.
Those story's are what I really desire, the story's of life, adventure, mundane, beautiful. All of it, everything about people's lives are all unique and changing.
But it comes with a sacrifice.
I've lived in this hole in wall bookstore my entire life. The many interesting faces, new and old, familiar and peculiar have brought these new story's to my steps, bringing life to this otherwise dark Furnace.
The only illumination with me now is the lamp on my bedside. No more story's to listen to. No more customers to welcome or bring smiles to. Only a ceiling to look apon now.
I'm definitely have gotten old, I'm repeating to myself. Is this what my Grandparents felt? How my mother felt as she held my hand smiling that last time?
Yes? No..
It's different. She had me with her at her End of her story.
Who do I have?
A little look around the room could tell me that. The dark…
No, I don't need to think about it now. I still have time. Time I can use to ponder of how life was, yes that would be better then the shadows.
Where would I start.. hmm.. The farm? Yeah that will do.
60 years now it's been. It's been a long time since then. The smell of Earth and fresh rain in the morning, along with the sound of animals dancing in the grass…
One could get lost in such thoughts. Perhaps that why my old man had spent the last couple of years of his life staring at the wall. I understand it now.
Perhaps I understood him too late. But at least I know a little more of my father and mother. Maybe not there emotions, but at least of how they felt on their last days.
The creek of the boards, the ruffle of small animals running around.
The Ash returning to wood again.
The Paper turning into dusted Ash.
And the Wood turning into new Paper.
Ah..
Ash is what is to come now, maybe soon I'll become wood and then paper again. Perhaps a book.
And again Ash.
Yes. That's where that light I see is taking me. To the fires of creation.
To
Start…..
Anew...