Essay On My Place Of Solitude

When I think back to my childhood, I am reminded of many happy times. I remember carefree days, filled with laughter, joy, and time spent with friends and family. There were many parties, picnics, and casual gatherings where I had the company of many other children my age to play with, interact with, and enjoy my days and nights. Seldom could I say I was lonely, bored, or wanting for something to do. There was always someone around to play with and always something to do because of a great imagination to think of ideas despite a possible lack of resources at a given moment. Life was usually pretty good.
As with most people, there were times when I did want to be by myself. At the end of my block, there was a wonderful place that I could go, with my mother’s permission, of course, and be alone. It looked like a palace on the outside, with turrets on the sides, made of beautiful tan and cream stone, smooth to the touch from exposure to the elements. The landscape was luscious with rhododendrons, roses, azaleas, and ivy. Fresh mulch was spread every spring, giving it a smell like chocolate. Five large steps made of marble went up to the massive front porch where there were two huge benches, flower pots with geraniums and greens spilling out the sides and trailing down to the ground, and a plush welcome mat that I felt was calling me inside. This was my neighborhood library.
There were two massive oak doors with glass inserts at the entrance. The one on the right needed to be pushed open in order to enter the wonderful world of enchantment. A bell would jingle, announcing my arrival, and Mrs. Burke, the librarian, would always greet me with a warm smile and by name, making me feel welcome. I would drop off the books I was returning and exchange a few words with her, as she always wanted to know how my family members were doing. She seemed to know everything about everyone. She seemed to know everything about everything. I knew that librarians had to be the wisest people on earth.
I would take the massive, open, marble staircase to the second floor. There was a balcony leading all of the way around the second floor where I could look over into the first floor. I liked to sit sometimes right above the circulation desk, which is what Mrs. Burke’s desk was called, and watch her work. Sometimes she knew I was watching and would look up and wink at me and I would smile and wave at her. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
I would then go to the back, right corner of the second floor through the archway created by two overhanging trees. These were not ordinary trees. Children created them last summer in the summer reading program. The trunks were made from cards of brown cards with the names of adults who visited the library and the titles and authors of the books that they read. On other papers cut out to look like leaves were the titles and authors along with the names of the children who read those books. It is amazing how many books the people in one neighborhood can read in just one summer.
After I went under the arch, I entered another world. There were magical shelves, that Mrs. Burke called stacks, that went to the ceiling. Books for children 12 and under only went up to the fifth shelf. I would walk up and down the aisles and peruse the books until I had selected five, which is how many my mother would let me take home from the library at one time. I would then find my solace under the stained glass window where there was a group of bean bag chairs scattered around the floor that few other people ever used. I liked the red one the best, it was the most comfortable. I would curl up and sometimes spend hours, lost in my books, reading, and allowing myself to enter new worlds as I would get lost in the words.