The Library:

It's a Saturday, in the summer, in Oriel Library. There's hardly anyone here. Just a few hard-working grad students like myself. We type, we read, we yawn. Occasionally we stare out the window at the fresh air and sunshine we are missing. Tired, sore limbs are stretched from inactivity. Uncomfortable pauses happen frequently, as a thought gets confused or a sentence remains objectionable. The stairs creak with age, and the walls echo the noise. Light splashes in from stained glass, while shadows play on the stacks of paper and the open books. Sighs of frustration and exhaustion abound. And yet we keep on. Working until are hands are numb and our brains are mush. Until our stomachs growl or our throats ache from thirst. The birds outside mock me with their freedom. But I have a story to tell. A task to accomplish. My freedom to earn. So I sit in solidarity with the others, stubbornly refusing to give up, even when a smarter person would've done so years ago. It is not easy. Ah but I have this lovely library, mostly in isolation, and I think to myself it would not be worth it if it were easy. So on a Saturday, in summer, I sit, and think, and write, and fret in Oriel Library. And I breathe. Because I am not alone, and I've got a lot to say.

Love,
Elizabeth