a microcosm
Watching a river of students pass through a school from the static role of a teacher, you become aware of the movement of life. The river runs forever, and the students are the liquid.
With the highest grade having graduated, a part of my heart feels empty. Expecting to see familiar smiling spirits that my logical mind knows I will never see again. With their passing comes an entrance, and now there are new freshmen, still not so familiar with daily procedures or how to put on their uniforms. I reach to bring them up and give them strength.
Coming, Passing, Continual Movement. A microcosm.
totorobaga 