Three cards


k22The ending of a school year is bittersweet, and as I grow older – as I have become “at home” with my school, students, faculty, and assorted persons of stellar qualities – it is more so. Every teacher understands the not-so-subtle adjustments made with time, relationships, and obligations during these few months. Rhythms change.

Changing rhythms bring a sharper perspective to one’s life, if allowed. Mornings. Cool breezes and coffee. Rough flagstones under my bare feet. No shoes necessary anymore, as I disrobe from the mandatory, pedagogical garb – skirt, blouse, sensible shoes. Now. it is the feel of the rough and cool. Catbird calls and the sinister tck! tck! tck! of my cats. Eyes narrow and yellow. Mellifluous sounds. No pounding feet – feet larger than mine – against the hardwood floors. No metal against metal with hard clicks as the lockers slam, one after another.

Rhythms change. Mornings in my garden. Yes to the softer sounds. Yes to the solitude. Yes to the music of a life tucked aside for many years. Until. Mail arrives. Until. Today, three cards for me. Each one scripted in pen. Student, parent, and headmaster write words that pull me back with an ache. Ah, the familiar bittersweet flavor returns. “Not now,” I say aloud. “Now is for me.” I say to you, “Now is for the rhythm in my bones.” These months will soon pass and I will once again read these cards, cards that call me to the other life. Today, they are lovingly tucked away with lavender from by garden, and love.


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