The corner table

I have a spot. A routine. Usually, I like to mix things up a bit to keep the creative juices flowing. Change libraries, coffee shops, times, music. But I have this place I keep going back to. A long table in the corner of the first floor of a library. Next to floor to ceiling windows. Under a very large lamp.

Here is the thing. I think I am allergic to the library in the old city. Like, cool - our library is one of the oldest in Germany and a tourist attraction, but - maybe its not so healthy to breathe the same dust as Mark Twain, Helmut Kohl, Philipp Melanchthon, Robert Wilhelm Bunsen, etc for long periods of time. Just a thought.

So here I am. In another library. In the corner, under the lamp, where I can almost feel the spring breeze passing me by as I write. and write. and write. ~love~