Each time I ascend the stairs of the loft above Ruthy's, I smile when I reach the squeaky step. The sound evokes images of old, heavy doors, wooden ships, and the opening of treasured trunks. The stairway turns and I find myself stepping through the doorway and into this serene little shop. The atmosphere almost seems to change and I am immediately aware that I have entered a place where books are loved. Adored. Revered. I notice that there is not a bit of dust or moldy old book aroma, simply the best of books, old and recent, and the friendliest of shop owners. James and Kara seem to sense when I feel like visiting and when I prefer to disappear into the pages. I am still amazed at how helpful they were when I needed an obscure, out of print title. They chased it down and it was waiting for me the next week. Amicus takes on an almost magical quality of never being the same twice and there is always something displayed that seems to have been waiting just for me. Delightful.
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