The Reading Room

There is silence. But not the erie, foreboding, dead silence. This is a more subtle silence, a silence that will enlist the help of slight, small noises to give itself welcomed and minor breaks. The ruffling of pages, the barely audible footsteps of people humbly entering and exiting through the large rectangular archway, and the occasional whisper from one student to another makes this silence more peaceful than all others. In the center of the cavernous the room, footrests accompany comfortable, inviting, single chairs complete with convenient end tables for which to place one's computer, books, or other valuables. To the right and to the left of these lounge chairs sit rows of scholarly looking wooden study tables stained in a dark cherry red fashion, adorned with reading lamps so students may better see their assignments of which they are so diligently putting their time and effort into. The walls are lined with shelves that sit ten feet high, filled with books of numerous shapes and sizes. The crimson, ocher, ebony, indigo, and olive colored hardbacks all suggest years of knowledge and wisdom from those who have come before us. "Absorb these words within our pages," they seem to say. "We are the keys to illumination." With the calming, easy glow from the light above me, the soft, cushioned, and carefully stitched material beneath me, and the sensation of the written word around me, serenity and peace flood over me like a wave as I inhale deeply, wallowing in the air's sweet smell; holding my breath and enjoying my newly found equanimity. My haven in a time of struggle.