I wonder what she's thinking.

Plans

I'd prepared well for my day: map, bus timetable, list of places to visit, notebook, pen, water bottle, book wishlist.

This was not on the list,

but I had to open it. I just had to.

And then *sigh* I read it, cover to cover.

Rain. Snow. Bright sunshine. Blossoms floating on the wind.
Spring is about the only time I enjoy such contradictions.

I've never met a library that didn't feel like home.  

A day to myself, bookended by someone else's schedule, but all mine, nonetheless. I can't remember the last time that happened.

Spring. Finally.

Perspective, view point, paradigm, world view. Does it always take seismic activity to change it?