Quiet surprise

When I go to the library I usually follow the same path: drop books in return slot, peruse new releases, mosey through the first floor art gallery, meander upstairs to the non-fiction section to see which biographies catch my eye.
The library is the perfect place for meandering and moseying. Its atmosphere is an invitation to slow down. Every room is quiet; even the smells - aging books, wooden tables and chairs polished by the arms, legs and derrieres of countless patrons - are quiet, inviting leisurely rumination. Take your time, is the library's message. Sit down and read a magazine or newspaper, choose a few books, CDs, DVDs or even pieces of art to take home with you for a few days or weeks. Enjoy yourself, the library encourages - in a soft voice, of course.
On my most recent library visit I took myself off my usual path and found some surprises. I was looking for books about Buddhism, but after I looked up a few titles and reference numbers, I wandered up and down each aisle in non-fiction, wondering what surprises might await.
Surprises abounded. Shelves of poetry, political science, gay and lesbian literature, cookbooks, do-it-yourself books. I was delighted, and a little chagrined by how long it had taken me, to see the dizzying variety of books one small-town library had to offer.
I found the books I was looking for, plus a bonus, a book on Buddhism by Natalie Goldberg, author of "Writing Down the Bones," the book that cracks open my writing mind and unleashes my originality every time I pick it up.
In keeping with my change of library routine, I exited Non-Fiction at the opposite end I usually do, and was rewarded with another surprise. On a shelf of recommended books sat a small volume with a photo of a smiling dog on the cover. It's title? "Doggerel." A book of poems written about dogs! I added it to my armload, feeling like a child who'd just found a quarter outside the door of a candy store.
I've been reading one dog poem aloud each night to my canine housemates; partly because I enjoy the sheer whimsy of reading dog poetry to dogs, partly because I like reading poetry out loud. It's like singing without the worry of staying in tune.
This is a lesson I want to remember. Old, familiar paths are comfortable, but there are surprises waiting for those who venture a step away from the routine, even in the whisper quiet of the local library.