The Schoolhouse
You walk slowly past the schoolhouse late in the afternoon,
your eyes drinking in the glory it once was,
wondering how many who live in this town
learned their lessons in this white building
at the peak of the hill. How many
have memories of bright white paint
and laughter and pain, of teachers and books,
and you think of your own life lessons
and where they were learned,
how life, not a place, has been your most poignant classroom
and how the most unexpected souls, your most enduring teachers,
their memories still sharp in your heart,
which after all,
is where the truest lessons reside.
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The picture is of the schoolhouse in West Pawlet, VT, just up the street from my house. It is no longer an active school, but evidently, according to people I talk to, is slowly being restored by someone in New York who comes up on weekends and works. What an undertaking! You can click on it for a larger version.
Tom
3 comments:
This is such a good piece! I can only hope that I may be someone's "most unexpected soul & enduring teacher." So warm and kind your words.
As you might imgagine, I have a soft place in my heart for a school. They really do have stories to tell. My school system offered a class for teachers to earn professional development a few summers ago. The course was all about the history of schools and educators in the county. It was so fascinating, and in some instances, very sad seeing buildings ing abandoned along with their stories. We had an opportunity to do a reflective poem. I need to to find that one.
When I see an old building with the original patina, I often wonder how it might have looked new and fresh.
Lovely thought provoking poem, Tom.
Hi Tom,
It is good that the building will have another life. It should make someone a fine home and will contiue to create stories.
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