The greeting card has a wax seal that is already broken and I mean to hand the card to the receptionist but she has glided on by towards the elevator and library. She was gesturing to the bar and restaurant when I looked literally the opposite way and found the card. I pick up the card with a little envy but the genuine intention to somehow find its’ owner in my heart or more truthfully my hope that when I find them they are as interesting as a wax seal suggests.

I make a mental note to think about what makes a person of enough interest to wax seal a letter let alone be a writer or recipient of a letter these days. Maybe it is an invite. May it is a generic invite. Maybe it is personal. Maybe it is impersonal. May it is marketing and dually left behind.

I pick up the letter  who’s deep red wax seal had brought out the burgundies in the room sitting atop the carved and velvet cushioned chair and slip it into my purse as I nod at the gestured details the receptionists points out.

Across from the elevators is a two story study lined with shelves and books. There is a narrow staircase that weaves up to a few desks and shelves. The shelves are conservatively arranged but invitingly so. In front of the small library study is a collection of various antiques and trinkets. There is a chess set with metal carved pieces, a wooden wardrobe rack on wheels with a few items both inside the bin and hanging on the rack. One such item is a doll with a porcelain face and white laced bonnet. All the items are clean and well cared for. They display like a perfectly planned archive. My eyes are full of chocolate wonderment eating up the details and even the way the dolls arm is placed across a wooden music box laid open I feel connection. I know this feeling. It is the feeling of stories flooding in when we enter a library.

The small but modernized elevator opens and we take it up slowly one flight. There is a stairwell afforded by the elevator but we get lifted up gently using the elevator and the doors open an area set up with a long wooden table and various chairs. There is a bar to the left that also looks like a culinary station. The table is set and out front this room is a few artifacts of a time when children dreamed of one toy or had one book read over and over to them. A wooden horse is a white horse with a mane that is evenly tossed. There is a simple striped wooden ball and cup toy. I feel wonderment at the simplicity of joy.

To the right of the elevator s a blue door that is open and exits to a rooftop garden. I can see a long table out there and it sits atop thick frosted glass which must be the ceiling of the sitting area we passed over. I had not noticed the sitting area ceiling to connect this completely as may gaze was drawn down to the card. The receptionist keys us into the hall of rooms on the second floor we enter the aisle of bookshelves they have created and every dozen or so feet is a door that passes one into a living storytelling.