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Spring is here today. As I look out on 10th Street, cloud filtered sunlight casts moving shadows that play across the sidewalk. It's mild enough for me to have both the front and back doors open and there's a pleasant breeze blowing through the store.

Mark went scouting yesterday. He brought back 4 boxes of books to add to the shelves. I always marvel at his finds. I posted on Facebook yesterday about a small trove of Stephen King 1st editions.

We seem to be finding more rare books these days. Children downsizing the parents, or the passing of a loved one flood the store with donations. The same happens at the thrift stores and friends of the library bookstores we haunt to source our material.

There, among the forgotten novels and non fiction of the past, lies that for what ever reason, endures. Steinbeck and Twain, along with newer stalwarts like King and Rowling. Authors who's tales mark their time yet the story is universal enough it resonates into ours.

It is the nature of this ebb and flow that caused me to write today. I tend to be reflective on the Equinox. That magical day that happens twice a year where the hours of the daystar and moon are balanced.

But then it's gone. The sky that was a mixture of sun and cloud is now grey. The balance is broken.

Each successive day hence will be a shade longer as we rotate toward solstice. It is the season of the daystar. The promise of Spring in the Valley approaches.

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