It’s always somewhat saddening to see a few morning stars slowly disappear as I drive to school, but at least it does me the favor of reminding me that everything eventually disappears, even the successes I have in my English teaching. If this morning I make new paths with the students through a Shakespeare sonnet, much of that knowledge may be no more real than a wisp of air by tomorrow. The words we say in class this afternoon will float off beyond our minds by breakfast in the morning, when other words will wander into our lives with their look of self-importance. All things eventually vanish – clouds, rainbows, echoes in the mountains, and the seemingly special accomplishments of an English teacher on an undisturbed countryside road in Connecticut. This, though, makes me happy rather than sad, because the disappearance of success into the universe means more success can find space in my life. Thoughts arise and pass away in my classroom, which means new thoughts will throw themselves across the room like lights. Yes, stars fade away at dawn, but it only means the mighty light of the sun will be shining soon.
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