On Crosswalks--
There is a satisfying hush as I step off the curb;
A silence on the street that means, even for just one moment,
That I stopped the world.
A silence on the street that means, even for just one moment,
That I stopped the world.
To Everything Turn, Turn, Turn
Midterm, noun. The middle of the school term, a time of tests and essay writing and textbook requisitions, signaling the coming close of autumn. Momentary panic is bound to set in. How can six students in my class of nineteen be failing? What book do I teach next term? Will I be given another class to teach? More importantly, how did my hands get so chapped? I am constantly asking myself these questions, and yet, the panic hasn't closed in. In fact, I ain't even nervous. This time last year, man, was I a wreck. At risk of sounding too much like "The Yellow Wallpaper," I have a "nervous condition." I'm a worry-wort; stress affects me badly. But this midterm, I feel much like the boy from The Alchemist (our class book)--I feel like all the omens are pointing me down the path to my Personal Legend. (Look it up--it's on Sparknotes .) Everything has its time: a time to write midterm tests, a time to grade essays (stifle your groans), a time to ...
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