The Sheltered Tower

I slipped past the front gate and followed the brick lane to the small wooden lending library nestled against the ivy hedge. Its glass-paned door hung open by just a finger's width. Squeezing onto the lower cedar shelf, the scent of aged paper and dry pine immediately surrounded me. Tucked between two heavy cloth-bound novels was an old postcard printed with a misty, gothic bell tower. I wedged an acorn cap beneath its curling bottom corner to prop it upright against a dark buckram spine. Sitting back on the shelf, I rested my fabric hands on my knees and listened as the morning wind rattled the latch, keeping quiet company with the paper tower.