The silence of my favourite library can be delicious. Yes, somewhere in the background a gentleman has just loudly blown his nose, and there is the occasional light cough, but there is a beauty to the silence you can feel here — it is about feeling the silence, not just hearing a kind of silence.
The solid, dark wooden walls, the occasional imposing paintings, the lights that are there but blend well into the simple aesthetic and the sunlight coming in from the street, the clean, well-organised books that never seem to take up too much space. Everything helps, it seems.
I find it easier to focus. Even more so than with the noise cancellation on my AirPods, and of course the view to the garden from the corner of my eye helps, the nature swaying in a kind of dance of life as it passes by and wanders around — one entire side is made of glass, but not only is it sturdy double glazing, it is also tinted (and there is a small roof extending beyond the glass towards the street, which helps let in enough light, but not too much). It helps that the chairs/armchairs are phenomenal, solid and comfortable (and tuck neatly under the table); that the old table is sturdy and perfect to sit at. The stars align here. It is almost like magic.