On beauty

Toddler negotiates the coffee-table against a backdrop of bookcases. The lowest two shelves are protected by baby-gate; not as a barrier constructed between spaces, but to guard the volumes themselves. He pulls books. A postcard, business card or press release might slip to the floor. A cover might tear. We do this to protect our collection, protect ourselves from the stress and worry of damaged or misplaced titles. You might ask: why have so many? We have books, and new titles arrive daily. One upon one upon one. It is a system of weeks before stacks from the desk absorb into shelves. We attempt a small sense of order. By author, the books are alphabetized by letter but not yet within each letter. Sm beside Sa beside Sl beside Sp. There isn’t the time. With small children, one might consider the shelves by themselves as quite the accomplishment. They might just be right.

In all of this, there is barely a chance to breathe. To breathe. There is no such thing as a chance to breathe. I haven’t a moment. I am always in motion.

He is constantly in motion. I remember thinking, also: I am always in motion.