silverfishes

the long wait for the paint to be dry and beyond stickiness is at last over. what they lack in order, they make up for in niftiness. wonderful, white, they are still yawning in places for more books to take up lodging.

they look like they came with the house. they draw the curious who share our drive closer, the slowing of a truck, a shiny suv, the slow, palpable steps of a dog walker as they peek in through the windows into the lamplight and at the newest deliciousness in this household.

i think we should have a book shower and those who love us most should bring books to the shelves, to us, so that we can eat them and store the bones of them in long lines, waiting to be picked at again for a later re-read.

sensational idea, no?

silly, i feel. silly and sheepish. but my mother mentioned it, too, so, it's not just me. i was looking at the sunlight on the taffy color of the floor and was thinking the only thing my study needs now, aside from a desk dusting and a gigantic fern, is a purring cat snoozing the afternoons, the mornings away. maybe we could get a cat from a shelter this time, from people who have evaluated the kittens for mental and physical health. . . pathetic, this mama, yes?