Library Book Sale

It’s raining today.

I was taking photos of my book haul from yesterday’s library book sale. My partner and I try to go every month when our college town’s library hosts it, but we haven’t been on it as much as we had hoped when the school year started. But yesterday we were free so we drove over, holding hands and chattering about nothing, like usual. When we got there, we searched for old paperbacks of Willa Cather, Emily Dickinson, and Don Quixote.

Before the photo shoot, I had just put my laundry in the apartment complex laundry room and was thinking about how nice the sheets will feel when I go to bed tonight. The rain gently pattered as I struggled to haul my flimsy basket down the flight of stairs. The wind threatened to blow my banana-patterned umbrella away, but I clamped it between my neck and my shoulder as I fiddled with putting the key in the laundry room lock. The sunlight was warm on my skin when I trudged back up.

I noticed that the lighting was good, so I set my books on my bedroom floor by the balcony and attempted to take a few pictures. A particularly loud gust of wind compelled me to look outside the window, and I saw the cat that keeps meowing loudly at night, staring at me from across the way, confined by the screen door of it's owner's sliding door.

You can’t tell it’s raining by the bright blue sky, dotted with fluffy clouds. The only sign is the pouring rain down the side of the roof, the bare trees flailing, the sound of the wind rushing. 

Feb. 6, 2024