A partial moon reaches through creaking treetops, and I catch a glance of movement ahead--someone passing quickly as if fleeing the scene of a crime. I hear voices saying "Hurry, keep your light off. Don't show him where it is." I know they have found it, found what I was looking for, and they have torn a part of it and stuffed it in their nasty pockets. But they have given me a clue--their trail is hot and I can feel it. My focus is clear for a time. I find a book--this time an old classic haphazardly covered with leaves. Four pages are ripped out, and without a thought, I flip through 60 pages and rip one out and cram it in my pocket.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
A crusade through the night
I'll find myself stumbling in the dark in a place familiar yet mysterious, following a narrow beam that turns as I turn my head. There's an urgency to find something but I don't know where it is. But somewhere within miles or less lies a hidden book hidden guarded by terror or at least by the thickness of midnight.
Such a crime to destroy old books, yet the fever of the hunt drives me on. I'll repeat the process 12-15 times well into the late hours past midnight--crossing steep ravines, boulder fields, briers and thickets, and sometimes trailz. A crew of like minded hunters who have joined me, and we'll catch those ahead of us, and maybe plunder their cache, or at least cast ill-advised directions their way. A cut-throat quest this is, the Barkley Book Fair.