And then there was more

Everybody seems to have their own idea of Heaven.
For some it's the empty countryside on a clear, warm day.
Others might say it's complete silence.
And still others might say Manolo Blahnik.

For me it's Powell's Bookstore.

Walking through those impossibly spotless glass doors into the literary mecca of old, new, used and never been cracked volumes upon volumes is enough to calm me in even the most doomsaying mood.

Having just come back from one of my many trips to my own version of paradise, I sat down with my book bag and removed each of the new purchases (none of which I really should have made but all of which are completely necessary). I carefully placed each of my three new pieces of verbal candy on the desk top in front of the computer with careful attention to my need to see each of their title and author. It's just this thing I do.

Adding to my library are Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, Tobias Wolff's This Boy's Life, and Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse.

I couldn't seem to keep from pawing through my canvas sack as I walked from the book store and ended up pulling out the Atwood novel, beginning its first few pages as I walked.
I wish I could say I narrowly missed an offending telephone pole, walked across a busy street against the signal and caused a number of near-collisions, or ran headlong into some other booky with their head buried in someone else's words but none of those things actually occurred. I simply read until I reached my destination and then climbed a set of rickety, oily, dangerous and skewed steps to an over noisy office so I could make a point of recording the otherwise uneventful happenings of my last half an hour.

This seemingly pointless endeavor might go unnoticed by any number of people who don't relate notions of Elysium to gargantuan book stores but for any of you who might have some sort of slight connection to my present excitement, simply insert your own experiences.
Think of running through that open field with your eyes closed, not worrying at all about tripping or running into anything.
Think of hearing the echo of a single drop of water as its muted staccato is quelled by breathy nothingness.
Think of obtaining the last pair of a limited edition heel in just your size...for half price.

This is how I feel right now.
36 minutes and 20 dollars later, I'm happy.