I own a book shop. It’s quiet and cozy and smells like coffee, ink, and pumpkin pie spices. My book shop sits on the corner of the town market place, I love it here because I get to meet the most interesting people. I guess it helps that I carry every book anyone could ever want and somehow never run out of them.
In the mornings before the sun has woke, the gods stop by for coffee and books about growing an enchanted garden, how to steal a door frame (not a door, a door frame mind you), and how to sleep without working eyelids.
Today I sympathized with the god of spring breezes who is going through the stages of grief after his 6th dog pasted away. He looked quite lonely today.
In the afternoons I spend my time guiding faë and sprites around the shelves in search of vegan cookbooks, cloud sailing, and the extended history of creating new words and phrases.
One of my regular costumers came in today with the hopes that I had fresh coffee. I did of course, this is a book shop and not a mad house.
The after-hours are particularly interesting. The people of the night come to roam around and feel normal. Not like coffee deprived insomniacs flocking to the nearest coffee pot normal.
I’m talking about. . . The open-microphone comedy we have Fridays, chatting about sewing with the newest vampire biker gang, finding out how many pockets the god of jacket-pockets has in her jacket, and reading the latest study of the evolving smoke-smell of ghosts. That kind of normal.
I took a short break from blogging these past weeks, and now I’m back with mini-series of blog posts called Day Dreaming. They will be seemingly random and varying in length. Feedback is always welcome, AND! I want to know if you would like to read a certain type of post (poetry, blogging advice, life of a blogger, faith and music, inspiration, short stories, etc).