Monday, December 3, 2012

I forgive you, the Preposition Down

Downpour.  Downturn.  Closing down.  Saturday was the last day of our town's only bookstore.  Our town now without any bookstore.  Which had been one of the requirements for moving here.  Down came the shelves day after day. Down came the books.  I gathered some up and a CD of classical guitar that used to play while I sat down in that clean, well-lighted place, in a properly scuffed and sagging armchair making my choices.  The chair is gone and now the store is gone.  Back home I put my bookly burdens down and let classical guitar trickle down into my own book-lined room as the rain brimmed over the gutter outside and I danced low to the ground where no one could see me through the window but where I could feel right down in the soles of my feet the downpour, the downturn, the closing down.

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