Truthfully, I ought to be doing a dozen different issues proper now, however this concept has utterly captured my consideration.
If I had my approach, my Little Free Library wouldn’t simply be a field of books on a stick. It could be a small landmark—quietly considerate, just a little weathered, and filled with coronary heart. The construction can be product of reclaimed wooden, one thing sturdy like oak, pale from solar and time right into a delicate, silvery grey. I image a glass entrance door, easy and durable, so you’ll be able to see the titles inside—books with actual weight, like Simon Winchester’s The Man Who Liked China or Mark Kurlansky’s Havana. Books that take you locations, that make you suppose.
The roof would lengthen simply sufficient to provide just a little shade—as a result of that is Arizona, in spite of everything—and there’d be a spot on the facet the place desert lizards might collect, perhaps with a small bowl that catches rainwater. A nod to the surroundings, one thing respectful of the lives that move by, human or not.
At evening, a small solar-powered gentle would flick on—not vibrant, only a delicate glow to remind folks it’s nonetheless there, nonetheless open. A spot for tales, for concepts, for moments of quiet connection in a busy world.
It wouldn’t draw consideration to itself, however when you walked previous it usually sufficient, you’d begin to really feel prefer it belonged. Prefer it was a part of the neighborhood. Prefer it knew your identify.
