Notes from public school - day 62

As a teacher and a writer...

I am sometimes like the narrator of the little scene I wrote below, watching in wonder at our students and our school as we make our ways through school days and through life.

I am sometimes like the little brother, communicating with the world in mysterious and surprising ways.

I am sometimes like the lightning bug, providing a soft light that is beautiful and wonderful to behold.

Lightning bugs.

That’s what we called them, because they lit up the old apple tree in the back corner of our yard.

At the sound of my brother Carver's voice, the lightning bugs flashed their flashing lights in the mason jar in which we kept them on the table beside our beds.

They softly lit our room with a warm light.

It was beautiful and wonderful to behold.

I’ll always remember the surprising thing that happened on the day he was born. 

He was wrapped in a blanket, snuggled by momma’s side with his big brown eyes wide open. 

He was as still as the water in our farm pond on a July afternoon. 

A lightning bug came into the room through the open window with the breeze and lit gently on his nose. 

I watched in wonder as he blinked his eyes three short blinks and the lightning bug blinked it’s light three short blinks.

He blinked his eyes one long blink and it blinked its light one long blink.

Was my newborn brother talking with the lightning bug? 

Was such a thing possible? 

The lightning bug took flight and flew out the window through which it came.

- Trevor Scott Barton, stories for a brown eyed girl, 2019