Actually, I ought to be doing a dozen different issues proper now, however this concept has utterly captured my consideration.
If I had my manner, my Little Free Library wouldn’t simply be a field of books on a stick. It could be a small landmark—quietly considerate, slightly weathered, and filled with coronary heart. The construction could be product of reclaimed wooden, one thing robust like oak, pale from solar and time right into a tender, silvery grey. I image a glass entrance door, easy and durable, so you possibly can see the titles inside—books with actual weight, like Simon Winchester’s The Man Who Beloved China or Mark Kurlansky’s Havana. Books that take you locations, that make you suppose.
The roof would prolong simply sufficient to offer slightly shade—as a result of that is Arizona, in spite of everything—and there’d be a spot on the aspect the place desert lizards might collect, possibly with a small bowl that catches rainwater. A nod to the surroundings, one thing respectful of the lives that go by, human or not.
At evening, a small solar-powered mild would flick on—not shiny, only a tender glow to remind folks it’s nonetheless there, nonetheless open. A spot for tales, for concepts, for moments of quiet connection in a busy world.
It wouldn’t draw consideration to itself, however should you walked previous it typically sufficient, you’d begin to really feel prefer it belonged. Prefer it was a part of the neighborhood. Prefer it knew your identify.
