50 Shades of Mud
A Poem for the Old Town Newhall Library's Grand Opening this Saturday
As the library op’ning nears
I find the structure looking...drear.
Its towers soar, its rafters span,
But the impact’s short of grand.
It’s quiet, this new place in town,
In muted shades of ashen brown.
It’s all tinted about the same,
This color, praytell, what’s its name?
This color of a soggy plain,
This color of dust slaked by rain,
This color of dirt after flood,
Ah yes: It’s fifty shades of mud.
Columns in mud-colored stone,
Pillars stained a muddy tone,
Murals of mud-coated steeds,
Mud shelves for mud-covered reads.
Chairs picked for their muddy hues,
Halls with muddy light imbued,
Odd quotes from muddy intellects,
Each turn finds muds more muddy yet.
But just, perhaps, it’s by design:
Libraries are built for the mind,
So why not drab-en outward glory
To highlight words, books, and stories?
Let their celestial light efface
The chthonic tones of this dull place.
And further yet, mud’s the hue
That fits dear Old Newhall most true.
The great West is tan, dusty, dun,
We honor shades that others shun.
Libraries of New York and Rome
Can shine in glass and gleam in chrome
Can keep their marble, rose, and gilt,
We like mud for the one we built.
[NOTE:]These pictures come from the City's wonderful Flickr account.