Also known as the Church Avenue Bound G train at 3 AM

Gustave Courbet. Self Portrait/The Desperate Man

Sonnet: On Being Cautioned Against Walking On an Headland Overlooking the Sea, Because It Was Frequented By a Lunatic

by Charlotte Smith

Is there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;
Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs
Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf,
With hoarse, half-uttered lamentation, lies
Murmuring responses to the dashing surf?
In moody sadness, on the giddy brink,
I see him more with envy than with fear;
He has no nice felicities that shrink
From giant horrors; wildly wandering here,
He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know
The depth or the duration of his woe.

The Four Seasons

This weekend's world was a veritable ice castle, with the whole landscape covered in deep snow and a thick layer of solid ice. The trees around my little woodsy home were collapsing under the weight, and I took cover in my kindly neighbors' house. Had this been the three little pigs, my home would be made of straw and theirs of brick (not too far from reality). We awoke to the sound of another tree falling and looked out the window to see it lying just several feet away. A few minutes later the great Doug Fir that added extra allure to my front porch was uprooted and barely missed crushing my living room during it's descent. There was no time for crying over the dahlia and narcissus bed planted around it, since chainsaws were going and it was time to help clean up. In the hours when the chainsaws had died down, I got to explore and was enamored with a 48 hour world of ice that seemed to freeze the whole year in it's glassy claws. Then it was back home to nurse my new frostbite.

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

Sustenance and Covering

I came across this happy project on a walk today, and hope to see it come together piece by piece. The first dusting of snow reminded me we're well into January. It seems a perfect time to share this note, which I hope we can all borrow to hang upon our doors this year:

I leave this notice on my door

For each accustomed visitor:

'I am gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields;

Reflection, you may come tomorrow,

Sit by the fireside of Sorrow.

You with the unpaid bill, Despair,

You tiresome verse-recitor, Care,

I will pay you in the grave,

Death will listen to your stave.

Expectation too, be off!

Today is for itself enough...'

Percy Bysshe Shelley

So explore to adventures

Like anyone else who has ever taught, I have some regrets from the past few years. One of which is not knowing this song existed until already leaving my post. Sigh. Sorry children.

Another regret is not having chronicled more of the journey, including the many things my students said that made me stop, pretend I was having an allergy attack, and laugh into a tissue until my nose did actually stop running. They also produced artwork and cards that blew me away and made me feel my crazed days and sometimes sleepless nights were meaning something. Thankfully, some of the gems were kept, including this thank you letter written by a jaw droppingly sharp and sassy first grader who only made me pull some of my hair out. I saw her doing this without adult help (unless you count me dictating help?...).