An Ode to Two Books By Anonymous One smells of crisp spring crocuses blooming in a dusting of frost. The other smells of water in the wind and the happy sound of rain hitting glass. They lie in a small stack of other treasured texts, by a window. The sun leaks through like golden syrup and spreads a clear coat of gloss on the dusty covers. They lie there, nothing but paper and ink. The very ink that flooded my mind and the paper that built a boat and sailed across it. One taught me a beautiful way to live: To be kind, always, lest some wayward willow tree be an ally in disguise. The other taught me that there is always a third option: To be ever on my toes and let those toes be in boots, just in case. One with its harmless memories and the other’s firm resolve, they are the reason my mind is shaped like two handsOne to harbor and one to hold.
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