A Tree Grows

I often arrive at school a bit earlier than most. I need the time to get myself together. To gather my thoughts. To pull together the strands of the unfolding day. And greeting me each morning is a magnificent tree. A beautiful tree. Some days, I barely notice it. It's just ... there. But other times, I see it so clearly and it makes me stop in my tracks to think about how much this tree is attached to this school and how as the tree changes, so do my students.

In late summer, the tree is still blooming from the warm days but the leaves hint at tinges of color, as if it knows the cool nights are bringing changes in the air. It must spend much of the summer in silence and must welcome the return of people. Come September, the tree becomes a gathering place again as students reconnect with each other. They chatter, still tan from their days in the sun. On hot days, the tree is the sole refuge of shade on the playing field, the only tree standing tall enough to ward off the rays of the sun, and the students flock to it.

The leaves turn a brilliant orange in the fall and my first thoughts are always that the tree must be wearing a wig today, as if it were tired of its own personality and needed something new. I notice, too, students changing, as they shift away from their summer personalities and begin to progress to new levels. They seem different now as the change takes place. Not as evident as the orange wig the tree wears. No. Its inside, not outside -- this kind of change. The tree's hairdo is temporary and the colors come and then they go. Leaves collect beneath it, covering the picnic tables as young kids lay on their backs, staring up and letting the leaves fall on their faces.

(Please read the rest of the narrative at http://docs.google.com/View?id=dc5j36mc_1107hq2j4twz and watch the digital story at http://www.vimeo.com/5929031)