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| The Main Branch Library |
In the cozy, co-ed infested neighborhood of Cedarland sits the main branch Library. Founded by the great Rowans Brothers, the building follows the neo-classical trail of every other richly-patroned learning establishment. A basilica to knowledge, it has a great glass dome in the center and two bronze-roofed wings to house the tomes of the mid-nineteenth century. The masonry exterior has faced the ages with stoic grace; not one brick is out of place, none are crooked or cracked. Thickly paned windows glint with thin beams of sunlight that struggle through the shade of high-reaching Elm trees. Dish and Dash, two lions guarding the stairs, glare down through their identical manes of stone. The inscription above them reads: "In tempore, omnis cognito". In time, all knowledge.
Past the massive double doors and the creak of ancient iron hinges, a hazy rainbow reflects off of the marble floor, tinting the meridian star there. Light filters through the oculus of the dome: a stained glass wonder. Blue bits of sky rain down through painted cedar trees and flowers, sending a kaleidoscope of color rioting unexpectedly through the solemn hush of the library.
Mrs. Entler clears her throat. She's sitting at the great entrance desk where she monitors the card catalogue. Her stern face reflects on the desk surface of polished, petrified wood - a maze of wrinkles framed by thick black-rimmed glasses and white hair pulled tight and away. She's worked at this library for 70 years. Despite her gruff demeanor, she loves her job and would work there for 70 more if she could.
Past the massive double doors and the creak of ancient iron hinges, a hazy rainbow reflects off of the marble floor, tinting the meridian star there. Light filters through the oculus of the dome: a stained glass wonder. Blue bits of sky rain down through painted cedar trees and flowers, sending a kaleidoscope of color rioting unexpectedly through the solemn hush of the library.
Mrs. Entler clears her throat. She's sitting at the great entrance desk where she monitors the card catalogue. Her stern face reflects on the desk surface of polished, petrified wood - a maze of wrinkles framed by thick black-rimmed glasses and white hair pulled tight and away. She's worked at this library for 70 years. Despite her gruff demeanor, she loves her job and would work there for 70 more if she could.
Past the hulking main entrance desk a herd of college students crook their backs over textbooks and notes. Finals are around the corner and the main branch library is here to catch the overflow from Place University. Occasionally, a mutter echoes through the main hall - asking for a pen or a worksheet.
Beyond the desks of students, the library continues back and back - dark shelves creating a manmade forest of musty books; the wood made paper then built back into some semblance of its old self, but infinitely more: The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Coniferous Forests: A Guide to Tree Planting.
Beyond the desks of students, the library continues back and back - dark shelves creating a manmade forest of musty books; the wood made paper then built back into some semblance of its old self, but infinitely more: The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Coniferous Forests: A Guide to Tree Planting.
To the left an arched doorway, overseen by a blind stone cherub, marks the entrance to the children's wing. It's full of toys, brightly colored books, whimsy and more, ready to bring children to other worlds and teach them to love their imagination greater than anything else. Tiny chairs made for tiny bodies sit empty, waiting for the nearest elementary school to close for the day.
The other wing hides the unsightly technology the Library is embracing. High-end computers line the curving wall, eager to serve the library patrons. There is no shortage and almost every chair is occupied. Modern, metallic shelves of popular DVDs and audiobooks take center stage, flanked by the very technology they require, ready to be checked out.
In the far corner, near the bathrooms, the microfilm reader stands alone - dusty and forgotten in an age of bright flashing lights and instagraphics. It's very old, but it still functions. Soon, the library will get rid of it.
Though the library is massive and old and mysterious, it thrives - because it changes, because it learns, because it is a safe haven. It has been here for an age, for an aeon. It will be here for one more.
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