I walk into a lifeless room.
Desks in rows.
Rugs, couches, and pillows gone.
Bookshelves barren.
An alien planet.
Every aspect of it is contrary to the place I have considered a second home.
My hope is to resuscitate this space. And bring in a sense of comfort and warmth. There is nothing I can do about the desks or the lack of soft fabric to touch or congregate on.
I spin in circles wondering how this could go. How this should go.
Finally, do what I know. I start to pull out books.
Books returning from home.
Books stored in cupboards.
I stack books on desks, by category and interest.
And, I start to see my students. Who would want what.
I grab my phone ordering to fill the gaps.
The mess of it all begins to shift.
One desk fills and I move to fill another.
Stacks migrate from desk to shelf.
I walk the length of the shelves searching for spaces. Scanning the titles.
As shelves fill, I Imagine seeking the book for that child.
I stand back and look. Still a bit foreign. But the familiar fills the shelves, lights up the room with color and hope. Ready and waiting.
The books.
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To Read To Write To Be 