“The place of the cure of the soul” by Tim.
Out of the house and onto the streets. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Off the streets… to where? Where?
Through the big library doors, out of the too-small town and into the whole wide world, passing under the words:
“This is the place of the cure of the soul”.
Out of my head and into an edgeless world,
Out of my little box and into the wide-open white-page spaces.
Into a place of silence and study, of steady progress through all the lands of fancy free.
Reading, thinking “yes, yes!”, finding my half-thoughts fully formed – talking to strangers.
Talking to ten thousand strangers in the biggest room of my world, the highest roof in town.
Ah, there was such quiet in the air, how can I conjure it up for you?
If people raised their voices, heads would slowly lift, go “shhh” and the perfect peace came down again.
You see, we worshipped the book: the perfect object of it, the wild potential in it, the optimism it enshrined, the high civilisation it betokened… all the project of humanity there on proud display.
Such a beautiful endeavour! Such a spirited adventure!
It reflected so well on us.
It took so many of us to build, so few to tear it down.