Thursday, April 12, 2012

a light under the door

Let me tell you a story. It is a story you have heard before, so very many times before, but perhaps you were not listening. Perhaps a cardinal flew by the window, a streak of red through the trees. Perhaps there was a shattering of glass or the noise of a train. Perhaps a kettle boiled or the phone rang, and you were distracted, always at the moment when you would have understood. But now here we are, alone, while the world sleeps, the house is silent, the windows are dark, and it is time to tell you a story, and it is time for you to hear my story.

Long ago, long before the birds had feathers, long before turtles had shells, long before fish flew through the air, long ago there was a child. The child lived alone in a cave, but he did not know he was alone, and he was not lonely. The cave spoke to him, in gurgles and whispers from deep within the caverns of the mountain, the sounds of water dripping into stalactites and the sounds of lava rumbling through chambers. The boy drew on the damp walls of the cave, he drew his hands, he drew the sun, he drew the ferns that surrounded him in the forest, he drew the monkeys that flew through the trees so quickly they weren't really there. The child slept, and grew, and drew, and listened to the mountain, and over the years, over many hundreds of years, he grew into a man.

dealer list for the NY Antiquarian Book Fair, and timetable, and maps

summer plans, in process