After the world's longest day, Heather, Luke and I went out to grab a much-deserved beer in Lincoln Square. While walking through the rain to the bar, we happened upon the saddest scene that I have ever beheld.
A dozen or so used books, sitting desolately on the sidewalk in the rain. In the words of Rory Gilmore, "My books look sad. Can books look sad?"
Being the broke college students we are, we sifted through them to see if the pile included anything we might want. One lucky book was saved by Luke, who was excited to save it from obscurity.
We celebrated the end of the day with an Irish stout or two. The saved book sat drying at the end of the table. It looked cheery to find a home with such appreciative and fun-loving people.
After spending the night talking about parents and classes and people and C.S. Lewis and books and Europe, we trudged home, still in the rain. I collapsed into bed, glad to be away from cold, seeping, stinging precipitation. In the morning, I woke up to the smell of the flowers left over from the Division of Christian Life and Thought gathering that I'd put next to my bed and when I opened my eyes, I was greeted with a burst of color and a welcome salutation from Spring.
In the fitting words of Tessa from An Aerial Armadillo, "my jewels":
I laid in bed for a few minutes smelling the flowery air and forming wordless praise for the little pleasures God gives us. Then it was time to get up and work on a Greek translation of Hebrews with Dr. Lee. Maybe I'll use my degree in Biblical and Theological Studies to be a florist by day and a bartender by night. And a vigilante book saver. Mmm, that's the life.