Frost and Warm Cider

This morning startled me with its sudden cold; frost on the trees, clinging to the remnants of plants left in the garden. The only color is the dusty green of pine rising beyond the queue of barren oak and ash. I feel as if I should be slowing down, making soup, snuggling under the down coverlet. Instead I run from here to there, teaching children of all ages to love words. We try out the sounds, letting vowels roll over our tongues. We click through consonants, understanding the power of rhythm. Yesterday my second grade project wrote a story about a seadragon and a hammerhead shark--unlikely friends who part ways over a misunderstanding. There is wisdom in this story. The dragon had previously warmed the cold Atlantic with his fiery breath but now the shark must contend with relentlessly cold waters. Sometimes we cannot realize what friends bring to a relationship until it is no longer available to us.

The poetry class I teach at the university is coming to a close. Students have had a poem to interact with all semester. They shared a representation of what they learned--via a storybook made, a sculpture, a painting on wood, a collage, and dramatic readings. There were also powerpoint presentations, animations, videos, and musical representations. The important thing for me is that they had to look at a poem from all sides. Whether or not it resonated for them mattered less than the time they spent. That's what poetry is--a slow and conscious way to look at the world. Though I was tired at the end of the day, I felt lucky to be a witness to the process. It is a little like being a conductor of an orchestra--I don't create the music, I simply move it along and keep the balance. Now if only I can learn that balance in my own life!