The first floor of the library smells like your classroom--at least today it does. It smells like reading Island of the Blue Dolphins, Z for Zacharias, Call it Courage, and that one book about Julie and the wolves. It smells like my green spiral bound response journal with my belabored cursive prose, and your letters to me which you marked with fluorescent tabs. It smells like staying in during recess on snow days and playing the pig game, and sitting around your feet while you read to us the book about avalanches.
It's a good smell.
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