Without books, how can we live?

Anew sun is creeping above the horizon, fading the lonely stars. The warm, hazy expanse of the high desert. Shimmering patches of snow on the blue range of the Jemez Mountains. A black heat beneath bicycle tires from the curving asphalt. The blush of stucco walls and forever green of piñon trees. The reddish barrancas to the north and black mesa to the south. A rock like a camel and a dusty arroyo. Old Pecos to the east and ancient Zuni to the west. Goatheads piercing soles and juniper triggering a sneeze.

The drought continues, the grasses are miserable, the sagebrush is gray and the land is cracked. Always the ranchers and farmers struggle with nature to hold on to their land, their simple dreams. The constant wind makes everyone nervous. Then the bluish light on the floor of an empty room: not a streetlamp but the moon.

Against this backdrop, I know how people can live without books. But after a weary day, content and full, we can turn to the written word. It brings happiness, pleasure and knowledge. A hardback, paperback, a poet in your pocket. A textbook, pulp fiction or scripture, and we open secrets. Current events, history or the lowdown on people famous for being famous.

The 5-year-old was angry because she assumed she would learn to read after her first day of school. After school, my grandson skimmed one hand along the rows of books. His first library card in the other hand. A clean sense of accomplishment as a parent to watch my son, on the porch, reading a book.

For 40 years, this state has fostered a beleaguered public school system redeemed by teachers who love to teach and students who long to be recognized. They enter buildings with broken windows and contend with stifling bureaucracy. Today’s children face a crisis within the classroom as well as when they leave. We have accomplished the undeniable: nature, facts and childhood are obsolete.