On the walk home from this week's Public Speaking class, the words for this poem trickled even though the sky was a rare rainless clarity and the stars were bright, and the air--the air!--was unseasonably warm. So: a poem to end the month.
In Teaching
The way, after a good class,
That learning remains
Stays like rain
That drips after it falls
Wetting the ground beneath
Our feet, on which we stand
In all composure,
Compassion.
