
Photo: A Funeral Flag… Beverly & Pack. CC BY
Service.
Active.
Courage.
Remember
Incalculable
Fidelity,
Indebted
Country.
Epitaph.

Photo: A Funeral Flag… Beverly & Pack. CC BY
Service.
Active.
Courage.
Remember
Incalculable
Fidelity,
Indebted
Country.
Epitaph.
Dear House Finches With The Nest Atop The Magnolia Wreath On My Front Door:
I wondered why you’ve been lingering so long.
The four babies you hatched at Easter surely took to the wild blue yonder weeks ago.
I haven’t checked the nest because I feared your fledglings might be reluctant to go; after all, there’s no place like home… not to mention that in a previous season I think I may have accidentally force-fledged babies who could fly but were still cramming themselves into the nest. They gave me quite a turn, flying out that day when I came to investigate. So little. I worried if they were really ready to make it on their own. It would be my fault if they were not…
So, Finches, I have left you to come and go as you please, without interference, and I confess that the whole reason is purely selfish: your music. I savor your beautiful song. So bright and pure…sunlight is woven through it even on the dreariest day. Your song gets under a corner of my sometimes-heavy spirit and lifts it, floods it with peace and a longing I cannot quite explain. I know the day is coming when you won’t be gracing my porch any more and then I will be bereft of these joyful little interludes… so I haven’t questioned your lingering. I’ve only treasured my extended finch fantasia with a grateful heart.
Yesterday my husband asked: “Can’t we use the front door now? Those babies are gone, right?”
Bless him for his great patience with my bird sanctuary. He is a minister, after all…
I said, “Probably. Let me go check the nest to be sure.”
And then.
Then then then.
Oh, it’s going be a while yet before we can open the door.
Now I know what you’ve been up to, my beloved Finches.
Encore.


You cannot know
not yet
how your presence
has utterly transformed
my world
seven months
of pure wonder
every day new
purposed and poised
tied with a bow
oh but one day
one day
you’ll know

If ever you need to feel loved
visit a kindergarten class
where they greet you
with open arms
and a question:
“Can I have
a hug?”
Photo: hug. gagilas. CC BY-SA 2.0.

Her pride’s on display
alongside her rainbow fish
in a gallery
celebrating creation
the heartwork of our children

The better angels
of our nature
cry out for
resolution
absolution
hear them calling
always calling
for the prevailing
of a collaborative spirit
over the combative one
before
even more
is lost
Photo: “If God Will Send His Angels.” just.Luc. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

anagram poem
broken hater
broken earth
broken heart
heartbroken
Uvalde
valued
One day at dismissal while I was monitoring the hallway, i.e., preventing a stampede, a fifth-grade girl approached me:
Mrs. Haley, I have been working on a story. I was wondering if you could give me some tips?
Of course! Is this an assignment for class?
No, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while…
Even better. Have you written any of this story yet?
Yes, a little, but I’m stuck. C. told me how you helped him last year and he said you‘re the one to ask…
And so it was arranged that the student would come to meet me in the morning, story in hand.
She brought a friend. Another fifth-grade girl.
I began to sense that this was either a business conference or a council of wizards… maybe both.
The student read her story (a fantasy) and explained that she needed help with where to go next.
We discussed the strengths of her introduction and how to create a hook. The friend’s eyes glistened.
I asked several questions about the characters and their problem-solving adventure (i.e., plot). The story-writer answered aloud, expanding her own thinking. When I made a suggestion or two, both girls’ faces took on an otherworldly light.
Most of all, my young apprentices (I really didn’t say ‘my young apprentices’ — I only thought it as I spoke), if you’re going to have magic in this story, you have to stick to the rules you put in place or you’ll lose your readers. Does that make sense?
Oh yes, said the friend, nodding sagely. It still has to be believable.
And off they went, leaving me marveling in their wake about codes and spells and the power of one’s own mind to imagine the unimaginable, of idea-dust drifting through the atmosphere to settle upon whomever it chooses for bringing forth the story that wants to be told.
For, in a time and place when writing workshop is out of vogue and crafting responses to texts is essentially all the writing the present educational Powers That Be can imagine, what could be more magical than a child desiring to write a story for the sheer pleasure of it?
Nothing, I think. Nothing. It’s an ancient alchemy.
Go forth, young crafters.
Your stories await.
So do I.
So do we all.

John Steinbeck on Storytelling. Jill Clardy. CC BY-SA 2.0
*******
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life Story Challenge…supporting student writers starts with supporting teacher writers.
an acrostic
First glimmerings
In the gloaming
Rekindle ancient
Enchantments:
Fairies freewriting with
Lazy punctuation
Inkglow illuminating individual
Evening essays containing
Secret spells, summoning summer

Firefly. Mr.k_Taiwan. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Firefly symbolism is also enchanting. In China, fireflies are associated with scholars studying at night.
I am coming home late
if you are meeting me at the gate
unintentionally, but still
at the end of a long day
I shall go my own way
and leave you to play
sweet clover for you
sweet dreams for me
lettuce savor the evening
dear Big Brown Rabbit
