Winter is waiting--

It's so unreal to think that the first half of the school year will end next week. I know we've worked hard, but seriously, where has the time gone? Yes, that's a cliche, but it's still valid. I have to mentally shift from creative writing and composition (both ends of the writing spectrum) to a fully literature-steeped semester. I will be teaching both American Lit and British Lit, both dual credit courses, and, to top it all off, I'll have all new students in one of those classes. I know who they are, but they are new to me and my methods, so we'll see how that all goes. I hope well-- I do try! I've been waiting for several years now to be able to get back to teaching Brit Lit, and I'm nervous/excited. It's what I do best, or so I've always thought. I guess we'll see if I can blow the dust off and shine.

I'm also waiting for new poetry books to review; I should be getting a couple sometime soon. In the meantime, my brain should be less like a chihuahua on pop rocks. 

And we are still waiting for our family to reunite. Things in Boston are looking better, but not ready for launch yet. Keep praying.

Winter is a time of waiting, a time of stasis, a time usually associated with hibernation and reflection. Why do I feel so damned rushed? Hurry up and wait is my least favorite state of being. I'd love nothing more than one free day to putter about and read and just wander from room to room, collecting my thoughts. I guess I'll be waiting for that for a while, too. I'm not a naturally patient person, but I have to learn to be.

Shelley says it best at the end of "Ode to the West Wind": 

If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

Have a good day,

C