This morning I was out on my bike by 5:30, pedaling up and down the hills near my apartment. A fairly dense mist had settled over the town, so I decided to forego a ride to the beach and instead focus on hill work closer to home. It was a rewarding time for me. The streets were silent except for the music of the birds, and the mist made the riding seem more special than usual, more out of the ordinary, more mysterious. After about 30 minutes of climbing, I rode over to Tim Horton’s for a large cup of coffee and a paper, and ended up sitting on a bench in the foggy park, reading about the Red Sox’ victory and enjoying the first sips of coffee.
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Yesterday, I visited Matt’s 3rd grade classroom, and enjoyed it immensely. Though obviously tired after a long and warm day at school, his students were utterly cheerful and friendly. After talking with them for just a few minutes, I could see why Matt has enjoyed working with them. They raised their hands with heartiness and spoke with passion. I saw the great spirit of 8-9 year olds that so many teachers love – the look of unrestrained excitement and eagerness in the eyes, the quick shifting of postures when an idea came. I walked out of the room thoroughly recharged. My bike ride back to