The library had a leak. Soft splashes tripped into my ears: drips like blips on what a silent hour. The stench was ripe, too, like I had taken a stroll by the lake, instead of hiding myself away in the nature of books. Damp – yet crisp – the Oakwood pine echoed through my sinuses and senses.
Heady, a dream-induced head rolled back on heavy shoulders. The sweet char charmed.
I would have plugged that hole had I found it – instead, my ears were hypnotised into the dew-land beyond the books.