This morning during the middle schoolers’ prueba de vocabulario, one 8th grade boy got out of his chair and started flailing his arms around. Halfway through my reprimand I turned to see what he was pointing at, and saw the first flurries of the season drifting down outside the classroom window.

The peaceful flakes continued to fall while I had a friendly chat with the 6th grader who called an 8th grade girl a bitch, and got punched in the face.

Now they’re still falling, without sticking. It’s unusual to have the first snow so late. I’m preparing sub plans so I can call in if the roads get too bad.

Today is a pendulum swing between chaos and peace, at unexpected moments. I’m thinking about memories that have suddenly taken on a well-worn nostalgia after only a few years, and other older memories that sometime seem almost unrecognizable. I can feel myself settling into the spaces around me, not stagnating or resting or anything static, just getting to know the textures of the here and now. This year, this month, this day.


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