British Library

Today's photography focus was on small things. I thought that notion was quite appropriate after we toured the British Library; as some small things indeed revealed themselves to me there. The tour basically explained the day-to-day workings of the library to our group from a Librarian-in-Training perspective; but my own, personal perspective did not start to take shape until we concluded our tour and entered the library's Sir John Ritblat Gallery (no photography allowed) where I felt a little like Alice falling down the rabbit hole... Life, it seems, keeps on bringing me more and more joy as I spend each day rediscovering the things I have loved for the majority of my life.

My knees became weak as I got within a foot of some hand written  Beatles memorabilia; the lyrics to Yesterday, Ticket to Ride, and much more. There was an entire room dedicated to the library's copy (only 4 in existence) of the Magna Carta. As I wandered back into the main area, I could not help but tear-up a little at the sight of a copy of pages from the Gutenberg Bible, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. All these artifacts putting my life into perspective and making me reflect on all my time spent as an undergraduate studying these items. In class, I would daydream of seeing these items in person and these thoughts flashed through my head like one long string of deja vu. As I turned another corner and peered into another glass case, I saw the poetry collection and picked up the earphones that were stashed beside the case. I pressed a button and suddenly Yeats began to speak in his crisp, old man voice the lines from a poem, about his epiphany at 'Innisfree' which means "Heather Island' that is forever etched on my heart, The Lake Isle of Innisfree (please click this link to hear Yeats' voice!). Only it wasn't Yeats's accented voiced reading his own words that I heard through the speakers, but instead the voice of my husband's obligatory reading of that very poem to me two days before I went on this trip. I remember sitting in the bathtub, soaking away the day's mad rush of last minute packing, etc. and he knocked on the door and asked if I needed anything after a hard day. I  did not know then why I asked, but what I wanted was to hear that poem so badly, and my husband was so very kind to go through my book book collection and pull out the volume that held my favorite Yeats. I mouthed the words to the poem as he read them to me, and I caught myself unconsciously doing that today in the library. I pushed the button again and this time, I wept as I focused intently on hearing Yeats' voice rise above my inner voice and the memory of being delighted to be read to by my husband. Finally, I realized, the small things are always there, kept with me in my memories and mundane daily actions; forever keeping me tumbling further down the rabbit hole; my life surrounded by love, good company and daydreams come true. 

In a quiet, reading nook over-looking the city.