. . . in a Denver neighborhood. And, no, I didn't PhotoShop in those Gothic spires in the background.

He has been thirsting for books, for anything to read. He has long ago finished The Riddle of the Sands, which he brought with him into NEFA, and has been reduced to reading the labels on bottles of medicine, the fine print at the bottom of army requisition forms, and as even these have run out he has started to experience a kind of panic, as if he is slowly drowning.

Vikram Chandra
from Sacred Games

It's sometimes hard to explain just how much I love to read and how cranky I feel if I'm temporarily bookless. (Truth be told, I'm happiest if I have a stack of books to read. Just to be on the safe side.) Although the Jefferson County Library system has been keeping my bedside table full, I knew I "was home" today when I visited the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver for the first time and was greeted by this huge sign on the door.

As of today, we've been Colorado residents for five weeks. So far, the most striking thing about the state--apart from the obvious, the incredible scenery and the wild swings in weather--is the Coloradoans' calm, easy-going attitude toward life.

After living in Brussels, though, where every (locked) electrical box on the streets bears a sign with a lightning bolt and the words "Risque de la mort!" (Risk of death!), it was just a tad disconcerting to come across this nonchalant tag on an electrical wire wrapped around a power pole that Hana and I pass every morning on our walk.

(By the way, the tag has been there for over a week, waiting for the Trouble Department crew to show up.)