Powell's City of Books

People in Portland read. Two of the things I love best about living in Portland are that our public library has the largest circulation of any library in the USA next only to the Bronx, which has a much larger population; and Powell's, one of the world's few remaining independent bookstores. Powell's is four stories high and a city block large, with a coffee shop inside, and I really, really want them to stay in business. Their online business helps, so if you have a choice, may I recommend you check here before going to the larger and less subversive amazon choice. What I love best about Powell's is that it shelves used books and new books together, by title, so you go to the title you're looking for and then you can choose sometimes between seven or eight available editions--from the frayed and spattered and back-broken mass-produced paperback (for maybe a dollar), to a brand new hardback upwards of $100, depending on the quality and size. There's nothing extraordinary about this photograph, but the way the path leads to the light, down an alley of books, is the way I've always seen my life. Not a pathway through a forest, but through an alley or a canyon of books. I can't bear to think of life without books. E-readers don't do a thing for me. I like the heft, the dust, the texture of the paper, the smell of the inks, the dogeared and dog-ear-able pages, the notes in the margins, and everything that is sensual, that is familiar, that is yes about books. My refuge, my escape, my education, my path to the light.