This is not

what I thought it would be.

On the patio of the coffeeshop I’ve been frequenting for six or seven years now. Went to Eastern Market in Detroit today to buy broccoli, beets, blue dress, & other less alliterative things, and now am halfheartedly putting the final touches on my first set of lesson plans for the year. Miles away my classroom door is locked on the clean desk, the bright bulletin boards, the colorful papel picado, the Dali & Picasso on the walls, the bienvenidos a mi clase and the puedo tomar agua, the class jobs, the meticulously arranged folders that I am determined to use this year. On Tuesday I will get up earlier than I want to, and put on high heels and my rusty teacher voice, but for now I am drinking cooling coffee and wearing a jacket and a scarf, because the temperature has dipped into the sixties and the leaves are changing. I can smell someone’s cigarette. I am remembering dozens of autumn days, and they aren’t all bittersweet. Everything is significant today, but maybe I’ve had too much coffee. I am tasting honey and basil and heirloom tomatoes and secondhand smoke and feeling words like

cusp
catharsis
catalyst
create

This is my favorite time of year.

I thought I was going to write about dreams for the school year, about seeing my little sister put on her postulant’s habit, about personalities, about role models, about digital clutter, about something else, but instead this is what it is. Less words than a lingering taste in my mouth.

farewell to slow mornings