Library book sales are a highlight of my summer. These sales typically have scads of quality books at bargain prices, and the money I pay goes to support a local library. What’s not to love?

I’ve spent hours rummaging on tables and through boxes full of books. In addition to browsing through books, I take great pleasure in watching others do the same. In fact, I suspect I may be a book sale voyeur.

I listen in to others talking about books. I watch them caress the spines of their favorites, lovingly riffle through pages and reminisce with a gleam in their eye. I get a thrill hearing the titles tumble longingly off their lips …

At any rate, this weekend a nearby library held their annual summer book sale. The sale began at 10 a.m., and by 9:45 there was already a long line of excited readers waiting outside the door. What a heartening sight: a warm, sunny summer morning in Maine and people were lining up to buy books and read! The air buzzed with conversation, anticipation and casual book talk: recommendations, reviews, laments about having too many books.

Finally, the doors opened and the crowd surged forward into the building. The junior high school gym was filled with table after table of books. Under each table were more and more boxes of books in reserve.

I scarcely knew where to look first. I meandered through the aisles, pausing here and there, waiting my turn to move into the more popular tables. Watching and listening, breathing in books – alone and yet connected to this bookish community.

Eventually I worked my way through the crowds to one of the fiction sections. I gradually edged my way in to the side of the table and leisurely examined book after book. I considered enticing new titles and works by favored authors and added a few to my bag, its increasing weight on my arm a promise of pleasures to come. I smiled with delight when spying old favorites, as though a beloved friend had unexpectedly appeared, and I touched them gently, acknowledging our connection.

After I finished at that table, I moved into an adjacent room. Eager to dive into yet another selection of fiction, I nipped into a newly available spot at a table beside an older woman. As we browsed, she suddenly reached toward a book at the back of the table before us. “Oh, this is one of my favorites,” she whispered, as her fingers gently brushed the spine of John Irving’s “Cider House Rules.”

I had heard similar words slipping unsummoned from my lips and from others’ time and again as I rummaged through the stacks. She glanced up shyly, noticing me by her side. “I loved it, too,” I said. We smiled, confederates in books, and continued our search – for new treasures and old favorites.

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