January 23, 2013 by allsho
Well, metaphorically. I am actually inside. The poplar is just outside my room’s window. If I lean back on my armchair and look out, there it is: tall, dry and bare, almost rigid. And these days it’s a winter light that comes in through that window, short along the day, bright at times, mostly dim and gloomy, if not foggy.
That light, a morning light, meets blue walls, and beech-coloured bookshelves. This is my working room, the “blue room” of our rainbow apartment, and as such it is filled with books of any kind. Maths and physics textbooks are the fastest growing group (unfortunately, as there is hardly anything new even in the newest), but there are novels, short stories, poetry; essays, especially scientific ones, but also history books, as this library also collects my wife’s readings.
It’s not easy for someone who spends many hours in one room to distinguish its peculiar smell. If there is any specific one in my blue nest under a poplar, I would imagine I have that same smell. And in spite of all my interest in, and use of technology, I like to think that, after all, it’s the smell of books, the one I carry with me. And some Armani stuff, but that’s another story.