at home in the library at the end of the Earth

children used to understand and visualize a bookend with metal, bronze, or some other sort of hard material- unlike the boring metal book ends of the 20th century…and it was within those bookends in a snug little room with the hard bound covers that one found solace, romance, or adventure of the cerebral kind.

but not today…not many today…

and so many minds reflect a shadow of the intelligence that graced this Earth when children read pages, not devices, in languages, not snatches of one-dimensional verbage.

in light of this, i have devoted some of our snow-filled nights to the reconstruction of an old style library…

sans devices

sans magazines

sans flexible metal hardware.

to snuggle up in a comfy chair as it snows the whole world over outside…with a cup of warm tea and a gripping story in your hands…is an underrated, and increasingly forgotten, winter pleasure.

To all you who will snuggle up by the fire with a good book…

May your journey find you warmth, peace, and a full imagination…

About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, and entrepreneur, living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley; store-made soda bread has the consistency of a sea sponge; and Kerrygold butter has finally found a permanent place on the grocery shelves everywhere. His blogs are an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of his posts from,,, and are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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2 Responses to at home in the library at the end of the Earth

  1. smilingtoad says:

    Nothing better. The image brings to mind one evoked in a recent little novel I have been pawing through- “Dusk has fallen in the bare room, the glowing embers of the fire rustling in the tiled stove, listless snowflakes outlined against the dark branches in the park. The moment beyond fear. The moment is as unfathomable as death.” -Ingmar Bergman, “Private Confessions”

    How I adore such moments. Happy winter reading to you,

    Autumn Jade

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