On a Rainy Saturday Afternoon

As I approached the Dusty Bookshelf,

I saw a silver-haired man carrying four, heavily-weighted, shopping bags.

As he passed me, I glanced down.

All books.

Either he had been trying to sell them, and failed;

or, perhaps, he was a man with a fertile imagination

and was stocking up for a long winter

without TV or the internet;

or perhaps he was merely fertile,

and had just completed his Christmas shopping

for his many children, grandchildren,

and, perhaps, great-grandchildren.

He was smiling.

You tell me.