Cirrus@Austlit

'The blue stone forecourt of the State Library was shiny and slippery from the rain. As I stepped over a large puddle I was tempted to squat and put my hand into the water like a child. Instead I listened to the click of my shoes on the stone steps leading to the Library entrance. When I got to the side door I dug around in my bag worried I had lost my swipe card again. I took a deep breath and looked over at the bronze statue of Joan of Arc seated on her horse. Joan and the horse were both shiny from the rain. They faced the street and stared straight ahead as if about to take off. I rummaged in my bag again and found the swipe card smothered in an old tissue. I held it against the card reader and the door glided open. The foyer was empty and still unlit. At this time of the morning I felt that the building was mine, not that it belonged to me but that I could go anywhere, do anything. I could look through shelves of books, rummage through boxes of manuscripts and wander around the deserted public areas like some kind of ghost. I lingered at the bottom of the stairs unsure whether to go up to my desk in the Art Library or whether to have a look at the new books downstairs. The sound of a trolley trundling across the floor of the Information Centre made me turn and go up the worn marble steps.' (Publication abstract)