It's that time of the year when colours again splash through, well, almost everywhere. Homes, complexes, halls, conversations, minds and hearts (and the list goes on). Red and green and gold and white conjure a great many things that define the season. Though school's out for the holidays (and is rearing its ugly head to swallow us reluctant students), that wouldn't stop us from at least having a word or two. For now is a time to share, to be together. What more could be said for the Library? What more for the nation? Let us free ourselves to be together, cast the stones aside. Remember the story of which this time originates.
I know, that was plain cryptic, but to decipher it is to understand what is of priority. We may traverse the world, or simply lie in bed. However differing (and conflicting) our personalities, our standing, our aspirations, our experiences; remember this, for we inhabit the same world. To tie this with what I have said earlier is to remember the lore of old, the raison d'etre of this season. Love, hope and selflessness should reign within us, and be kept constantly burning within us in this wait of joy. Red robes turned into modern myth, archaic customs done musingly, pure elation morphed into modern synth, what is this, I say? Empty forms mean nothing without substantial substance.
I love this style, beating around the bush, avoiding any bias that would strike a cord that would break us apart in these fragile times. However, though out history, times have been fragile, but the tale of which this festival originates goes on to tell of the phoenix that rose from the ashes, brilliant as day. Hope from Pandora's box shall send the bugs of woe back, and only then there shall be peace. So, for as long as that white butterfly work to chase the sorrows, there wold be misplaced books, incorrectly labelled material, noisy students, incompetent librarians (and the list goes on again). However, for now, let us gather together for the coming of glorious festivities, ad wait to sing the songs of the day.
Hope you were not frustrated by the seriously misty words. I'll give you a hint, all that I've said would be in the context of the Book (the word, βιβλίο, would come in handy). Until then, Joyeux Noel!
I know, that was plain cryptic, but to decipher it is to understand what is of priority. We may traverse the world, or simply lie in bed. However differing (and conflicting) our personalities, our standing, our aspirations, our experiences; remember this, for we inhabit the same world. To tie this with what I have said earlier is to remember the lore of old, the raison d'etre of this season. Love, hope and selflessness should reign within us, and be kept constantly burning within us in this wait of joy. Red robes turned into modern myth, archaic customs done musingly, pure elation morphed into modern synth, what is this, I say? Empty forms mean nothing without substantial substance.
I love this style, beating around the bush, avoiding any bias that would strike a cord that would break us apart in these fragile times. However, though out history, times have been fragile, but the tale of which this festival originates goes on to tell of the phoenix that rose from the ashes, brilliant as day. Hope from Pandora's box shall send the bugs of woe back, and only then there shall be peace. So, for as long as that white butterfly work to chase the sorrows, there wold be misplaced books, incorrectly labelled material, noisy students, incompetent librarians (and the list goes on again). However, for now, let us gather together for the coming of glorious festivities, ad wait to sing the songs of the day.
Hope you were not frustrated by the seriously misty words. I'll give you a hint, all that I've said would be in the context of the Book (the word, βιβλίο, would come in handy). Until then, Joyeux Noel!
