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The man rubbed his eyes and blinked them several times until his focus returned. He might have fallen asleep, but he wasn’t sure. Sleep came to him now and then. There was a time when he slept eight hours a night, every night. “Every night,” he thought. “That really was something, every night.”
He looked at the words on the page in front of him. It was “The Book of North American Birds.” He shook his head as he knew little more now than when he had opened the book a few...well, was it a few minutes or a few hours ago? Did it matter? No, it didn’t.
He closed the book and set it gently on the desk in front of him. He pulled his feet down from their perch on the corner of the wooden desk and spun his chair to the side so that his feet were flat on the floor. He clicked off the small lamp on the desk.
The room was dark. His eyes, adjusted to the light of the reading lamp and the white glow of the pages, couldn’t see anything. Light came from underneath the office door ahead of him. He waited a moment until his eyes could see the path through the office to the door.
The man opened the door and paused before entering the main entrance to the library. It was flooded with the sunlight of a beautiful day - a rare sight that wouldn’t last long. The clouds would move in quickly and the rains would return.