The girl was a reader. Her parents had books all over their home, but not always the ones she wanted. So she'd make her weekly trek to the yellow library with the brown trim, the little one-room building where the children's library actually was just a nook. Frequently, she ventured out of that nook in search of heftier fare.
As the white-haired librarian hand-stamped the due dates in the ten-year-old's choice, the little girl looked longingly at "The New Book" prominently displayed on the counter. She marveled again at the wonder of writing a book and having it honored like that, right there for the world to see.