I zip out the door, not wanting to be late for student appointments. I pause and look at the birds, assembled, huddled, social, connected in space if not in words. I snap a photo. It may be the only interesting thing that I see all day.
Last day of class. My torts students do something that touches me no end. It is always hard to let go of the first semester group, but this semester it is harder than ever. I look at them: the funny, the artists, the engineers, the quiet but ready in tough times, the ever-questioning, the ones with families, all with visions and I had this very brief foot into the door of their lives. Who should be thanking whom? (I thank them in the last sentence of the exam, which I write into the wee hours of the evening.)
I walk home tired and hungry. It is late and I haven’t finished all that needs to be completed tonight. But I have made progress. Should there ever be a n expectation of more than progress?
The wind is so cold now! My walk home is slightly under a half hour but it seems twice that. Yet, when I look up and see the lights of the bike shop, so enticing, inviting, as if anyone would, on this day, want to enter and buy a bike! – I pause and take a photo. I’m minutes from home, hours from Poland.