The snow in my neighborhood is slowly softening and passing away, displaying, after all these weeks, the stouthearted grass that obviously never gave up on spring. It gives me a good feeling to find some green across the ground instead of always white, and it makes me marvel a bit at this grass that's so strong and stalwart, so willing to wait for winter to go its way. In some ways, I can learn a lesson from the grass that's slowly surfacing on lawns and fields. Over these snowy months, the grass, I assume, hasn't struggled, hasn't groused about its sad fate, hasn't hurried itself up through the snow. It's been simply staying where it is, silent and resolute, ready for whatever comes, whether a covering of still more snow or a pleasant wind of spring. I wonder: In my teaching, could I be more like this resigned and long-suffering winter grass? Could I wait in a more easy-going way when lassitude seems to cover my young students like snow? Could I simply remind myself that wisdom always arrives at last, at least to the patient, and that waiting is the perfect path to learning? I'll be watching the grass in the next few weeks, just to see the green gaining on the white, like new ideas irresistibly showing up in the minds of my students.