Emotionally and physically exhausted.
Days spent teaching gifted students art. Expression. The meaning and value of true art. What lies beneath. Their work astounds me.
Nights and evenings entertaining and giving it all so that they can be filled. Filled with whatever they call it. The “Glow,” love, friendship, acceptance. Magic.
Last night, fist pumping excitement all day and hourly countdowns. Sitting in the theater with my hands clenched in fists for two and a half hours while a theater sixty miles south sat with hands clenched in fists for the rest of the night. Some, the rest of their
And this morning with my dear friend while she taught, worries clenching and unclenching with every passing
Of this camp tonight. My tenth graders finish their stay with tears in their eyes and on cheeks and with hugs and sobs.
Two days ago I draw the death card and the reaper against red sky and scythe, that butterfly curling against his cocoon, and I say “This is not a bad card. This is hope.”
Yesterday evening walking behind fifty kids leaving our end of session banquet and seeing the street lamps flicker on as darkness fell
While beneath they wandered through the trees unknowing.