To go to Barnes and Noble, to amble the aisle of title choices forever,
that vast covering aisle, clutter like evergreen trees.
To visit the fiction section where anything is possible and
where dreams can come true in a blink of an eye.
To discover ancient history long forgotten, in hidden lands,
to devour what cultures existed before our time.
To place your finger along the book spine
playing duck duck goose until your finger
lands on a title, pull it to see what
could this one be the one you buy.
To be able to take yourself around all day if
you want. To browse. To not have to buy. To gather
every book in your arms to buy, to amble two aisles
of westerns, never growing old of a good gunfight.
To quietly wander, into the children section reminiscing of those
books of Itsy Bitsy Spider and The Little Engine that Could.
To struggle under the heavy load in your arms as you walk
up to the checkout with a tower high of books where cashiers
peer around your stack to see who you are, where they will ring up
your treasure trove of new reads, brings a sparkle to your eye.
To be asked debit, credit or cash? To come out with arms strain
under the many books you bought for your nightly reading challenges.
To know that you can re-read your books at home even after store
light are out, as you have started reading in store while
ambling the title choices of vast array of books from one
corner to another corner standing there hoping to read forever.