It is a glorious snowy morning at Haven. This is a much needed snow in an almost snow- free winter. Mornings like this are even more quiet. The snow captures all notes of sound. With hot coffee near by and a good book by Gil Ziff, titled Tibet,  I am in a place of zen.

I visited one of my local second-hand/antique stores the other day. The book section is overflowing, and in no particular order. As I’m searching for the “right” book (s) to read, I can’t help notice the musty smell of aged pages. One part of me is captivated by the smell, the other part feels a bit heady. Where have these books traveled? Whose fingers dog-eared the weathered pages?

There is something magical about thumbing through a “library” such as this. I get lost. I wait for the messenger of word to show me the way. Aw.. this one, and…this one, and…this one. I left the anemic lighted store with a total of six books in hand feeling proud of my treasures and as if I had set them free from the musty dungeon.

Days as this move me to savor fleeting snow, and the quiet of a winter’s day.

Peace.