It's snowing floats and marching bands here. Sorry Streisand, but there it is.
The weather wore on me a little. If I were a sweater, I'd have pilled some. Then I was walking back from Metro and I heard a voice call out my name. I looked up to see one of my adorable new students who is connected to one of my adorable previous students running across the street, coatless, black hair flying, to ask me to go up to the second floor and see the mural they were painting. How could I not? I went up and it was a tangle of color, styles, and yet, harmonious. A kind of wacky symphony of figures and these delicate trees and the turquoise and au lait restraint of the keen eye that drew me in my other student's writing (you recall the one, Locksmith?) I wandered over almost hypnotized, having no idea whose work it was just that it was beautiful and the student who first brought me in to see the piece said "that is J's" and I thought, "of course."
Another new and bright student was working on it, too and I felt that old continuity and good fortune that I did when I worked with generations of students in Alabama and Cincinnati. What I couldn't find in myself in either motivation or endorphins or even just plain old energy my students like strange angels flew down and injected into my day.
The ride home was absolutely terrifying. I am curled up under my comforter with a good new novel and tummy full of kale, broccoli, go-lean "ground beef" garlic and cheese pizza. I am reading an amazing novel written by a poet (big shock that it's amazing!) I am dreaming of spring in northern Ohio and all of my fun little holidays.