I am as besotted with words as bookshop owners are (obviously) with books… Petrichor – the word for the smell of rain.
Mind you, I’m passionate about books too…and owls…
I stood outside at the fence today and ate a sandwich and watched everything go past. A grey day, warm, and some rain, and a group of tradesmen over at the picnic table drinking coke and iced coffees.
A couple came past. They looked in my windows. They don’t notice me up the street a little, at the gate of the little carpark. So they don’t lower their voices. He says, ‘Wonder why Strath has two bookstores!’
‘Don’t reckon there’s a need for either of ’em myself, I don’t.’
As they pass me, they join hands and lean against each other.
The thing about bookshops is that their owners are so mindlessly besotted with them that nothing can dampen our enthusiasm or distract us from our purpose. Except other bookshops. Obviously.
Chris drove up in her gopher and said a bit of rain is always useful.
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