For about 17 years I have had the great gift to witness the joys and heartache of the first day of of elementary school. The families in our neighborhood walk through the little suburban park that is next to our home, and enter through the gate to schoolyard. I love this ritual. I love hearing the excited voices of the freshly dressed kids and the parents saying... "Don’t run”.
Don’t run, indeed. Take your time. Enjoy this very moment. Enjoy the light that shines through the gate, though you won’t notice it. It beams through so boldly. It’s almost like the Great Spirit is saying, “Welcome to you your New Adventure!” It might be blinding at times... it might be scary...it might be exhilarating, but nonetheless, here is some glorious light to guide your way. Your Way.
I’m pretty sure that in 1994, when the school and park were built, no one thought about how the sun would perfectly frame this little gate. I really don’t think that the sidewalk was placed so that the 7:18 morning sun would shine on the children and their new beginnings. I find it hard to imagine that someone planned this park to give the kindergarteners a boost of photosynthesis and the energy that the trees provide. But I also could be very wrong.
The kindergarten parents cry. It doesn’t matter if this is child number 3 or 4 starting school, it probably feels like a piece of you is missing, as soon as you return though the gate. Luckily, one has to walk through the loyal oaks to get home. They will give you comfort and shade, unconditionally and freely.
It’s been a tough year. Times are weird and challenging. The children didn’t run through the gate last year. The park was sad because no one was running to their parents after school let out. This year felt exuberant, but still cautious.
This is a blip in time. One tiny snapshot of lineage, lifetimes, choices, open and closed doors. But the simple act of walking though the sunshiny gate gives us hope. The green on the trees promotes life. The laughter and the tears in the neighborhood gives us belief. No matter if you actually feel it or not, life is happening again, despite the junk we all just went though.
In a 100 years, will kids still be running though that gate? Will the neighbor who lives next to the park peak over the fence to tap into something bigger than herself? Will the parents still cry when they return from dropping off their precious gift to the great mystery ahead?
Today, the kids ran through he illumined gate. I guess that’s all that really matters right now.
Don’t run, indeed. Take your time. Enjoy this very moment. Enjoy the light that shines through the gate, though you won’t notice it. It beams through so boldly. It’s almost like the Great Spirit is saying, “Welcome to you your New Adventure!” It might be blinding at times... it might be scary...it might be exhilarating, but nonetheless, here is some glorious light to guide your way. Your Way.
I’m pretty sure that in 1994, when the school and park were built, no one thought about how the sun would perfectly frame this little gate. I really don’t think that the sidewalk was placed so that the 7:18 morning sun would shine on the children and their new beginnings. I find it hard to imagine that someone planned this park to give the kindergarteners a boost of photosynthesis and the energy that the trees provide. But I also could be very wrong.
The kindergarten parents cry. It doesn’t matter if this is child number 3 or 4 starting school, it probably feels like a piece of you is missing, as soon as you return though the gate. Luckily, one has to walk through the loyal oaks to get home. They will give you comfort and shade, unconditionally and freely.
It’s been a tough year. Times are weird and challenging. The children didn’t run through the gate last year. The park was sad because no one was running to their parents after school let out. This year felt exuberant, but still cautious.
This is a blip in time. One tiny snapshot of lineage, lifetimes, choices, open and closed doors. But the simple act of walking though the sunshiny gate gives us hope. The green on the trees promotes life. The laughter and the tears in the neighborhood gives us belief. No matter if you actually feel it or not, life is happening again, despite the junk we all just went though.
In a 100 years, will kids still be running though that gate? Will the neighbor who lives next to the park peak over the fence to tap into something bigger than herself? Will the parents still cry when they return from dropping off their precious gift to the great mystery ahead?
Today, the kids ran through he illumined gate. I guess that’s all that really matters right now.
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