Ode to teaching

Now they stand
tall and green,
casting deep shadows of woods.
Soon they will scream
with color
Gold, crimson and riotous orange.
Leaves will fall.
Ice will cling,
Snowy blankets covering the woods
Just when needed
(Maybe even too late)
Buds will burst, then leaves return.

There is no fence guarding our school
but this belt of green does more.
It lowers our stress.

It calms
It welcomes
It invites

We can explore without danger.
We can reflect without worry.
We can play without work.

Marking the cycles of passing time, 
You watch these woods change
for just three years.
As you change
Growing taller
Getting older.
Stretching.
Expanding.
But the constant is the change.
The constant is the cycle of change.

I've seen these woods cycle
through change eleven times.

Gasping each October at the beauty of color
Giving in to the inevitability of winter because of snowy beauty.
Holding on to hope because I know spring's renewal will come
and summer's restorative calm.

Teachers watch cycles of change.
They sustain us
our exploration,
our reflection,
our play,