Farewelling this School Year

The peonies at the edge of my landlords' yard are unfurling. The petals are pale, with rich, dark veins along the undersides, making them look like blossoms from some master's still life. Every morning on the way to work, I view a new page in the saga of their brief and lavish display.

My internal cloud cover inexplicably lifted a bit yesterday and today. I noticed again those pieces of connection and harmony that are easily undervalued when one is caught in the throes of disillusionment. An absent student sent me, by way of a classmate, a picture he drew of Jesus. Another student typed, in the laborious hunt-and-peck style of a second grader, the most beautiful note of appreciation. My coworkers recounted moments of joy and faithfulness shared within their families.

Tomorrow we will hold one last morning together before we scatter to our summer lives. Only a handful of children will straggle in to before-school care, since most parents will already be taking the day off work in order to gather the children back up after an early dismissal. When they leave, we adults will straighten and dust shelves, wash lockers, give the floors one last good vacuuming.

This work--tied to a school year rhythm--comes with a flow of beginnings and middles and ends and new beginnings. It brings its own pacing, a threading of days with points of mercy to regroup, to remember and value good things which may have been forgotten.