Today, with this sunrise, please be our teacher.

Did we forget to see? It's finally green again. The hydrangeas leaves just burst out of dry winter stalks. The hostas rise from the mud, pointing
straight up at budding maples. "There is tree; he is back." Who even noticed?

Sunrise after rain reveals new growth, every day presenting the same lesson, each time with different colored crayons. Day in, day off:  Sunrise. A simmering reminder that today won't last forever, and that yesterday is so totally yesterday. Doors will open again, and perhaps—if we are lucky—we are looking at a new normal. A music teacher friend of mine told me yesterday that this time at home has been an eye-opener for him. He's had time to look at his life and realize that what it was before wasn't working. An eye opener, he called it. A chance to look at things, and realign.

Time to think. Not always pretty for everyone, but very beautiful for others. Folks who aren't wringing their hands about where the next paycheck will come from are digging the break. Folks who farm are digging the sopping ground and wringing their overalls. This rain is great for grass; it is not so good for eggplant.

My friend asked how we are. Up and down, I said. But mostly somewhere in between.  Having time to make without having to make time is a distinct high; having to "homeschool" is a distinct low. It hijacks the universe's unintended invitation to simply be.

I am a teacher. Today, with this sunrise, I suspect that you may be right if you are a parent who decided right from the beginning to disregard "homeschool" in order to tend to your kids' hearts instead.

Tomorrow may be different. But today, with this sunrise, I wonder if you might become teacher to us all.






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