Curate, connect, and discover
Bare feet slip through mossy banks
On the other side of a bubbling creek, filled with watercress,
Is a deep path
Leading to a breathtaking waterfall.
“This way,” a teacher says,
Shoving a fistful of fresh-plucked watercress into his mouth.
Students and staff follow, in order of their eagerness
The sharp snap of the plant dances on every tongue.
Hidden and rocky though the path may be,
Treasures await the fresh-faced explorers
A waterfall spills into the creek, misting the group,
As they all file into a hidden cavern behind the rushing waters.
Teachers don’t lecture the students as they fill their cupped palms and stick their little feet in,
Most never having felt such overwhelming, refreshing freedom in their short lives
Staff watches as happiness spreads across usually bleak faces,
Knowing they’re creating core memories for themselves and their students.
When I mutter, “I wish I was a waterfall, strong and powerful and cool,”
It is Mr. A who turns to me to teach the most valuable of all lessons this day
He never lies, and with the intelligence of a middle-aged man from the middle-east, replies:
“But you are, that energy flows through you, too.”
Forever Writing,
quill rose