staircase reads

One of my favorite spots in the house are the steps on the main staircase. I’ve developed a habit of leaving books there.

Sometimes it’s a book I’m in the middle of reading. Sometimes it’s one I want to remember to bring with me when I leave the house. Sometimes it’s a library book that needs to make its way back to the our local library branch a few blocks away. The staircase has become a kind of holding place between intention and action.

Most days, there’s usually a small stack waiting for me. Lately between the railings are a few books I’m coming back to: Love You Came From Greatness by Nydia Blas, How We Break by Vincent Deary, and Mother Mary by Arundhati Roy. Together they form an accidental portrait of whatever questions, ideas, or stories I’m carrying around at the time.

What I love most about the ritual is that it keeps books in motion. They aren’t neatly arranged on a shelf, waiting for some future version of me to get around to them. They’re in my path. I step around them. Pick them up. Add to the stack. Return them to the library. Bring them with me on my commute or afternoons in the garden.

Staircases move people through places. Mine moves stories throughout my days.

More soon,

L