when the book fair, which had fortified countless white tents all over campus, preparing for battle grounds as the normally calm spaces became swarmed with book lovers, yapping children and loud-drum music; when the book fair, in its literate cannon-firing glory, trumpeting (in a good way) growth and education, aspiring authors and books on how to live; when the book fair, zapping life into this weekend, magnetizing campus grounds to pull in tangled paperclip-cars jumbled about parking spots...
when the book fair finished, I found myself drawn to the after state. the sea of voices replaced by the soft scrape of a rake sweeping away trash; the background rumble of moving trucks to ship away the vast piles of white - chairs, tents, stands, decor; an odd kind of quiet that turned campus into a different kind of magnet, one that repelled the visiting bibliophiles and attracted this quiet kid from his off-campus apartment instead.
it's as though the aftershocks have awoken the reflective, serene side of this place. vibrations humming to the heart instead of the brain, unlike all those forts and forts of books.
a yawning segue.
ghostly white chairs saluting all those remaining to clean up campus: the modest workers. the chairs bow before an empty stage. a white seagull comes to pick what pickings remain.
the air is fresher.
somehow, this is more interesting than the actual fair.
a yawning segue.
ghostly white chairs saluting all those remaining to clean up campus: the modest workers. the chairs bow before an empty stage. a white seagull comes to pick what pickings remain.
the air is fresher.
somehow, this is more interesting than the actual fair.
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