Hickory Smoked Turkey

Small Stones: January 31 Moments of peace and gratitude are plentiful when I remember to pay attention.

Small Stones: January 30 Salamander feet make me laugh.

Small Stones: January 29 Subway tiles      no longer white line the ceiling and walls of the tunnel.

Small Stones: January 28 Each morning you enter the classroom with the bravado and humble heart of a toddler. Your quirks are displayed in bright colors and bold patterns. There are no apologies. This morning you swung in on a Barenaked Ladies album singing of break-ups and dysfunction. You made me smile. You are my friend. You are my teaching partner. You are my mentor.

Small Stones: January 27 Back and forth      like two drunks      playing ping pong we try to determine where our Sunday brunch will take place. "I'm hungry, I want a buffet." I argue, thin lipped and stern. Your defense      "Buffets are things to be scared of.  They attract old people." though creative and true angers me in my low blood sugar rage. Sundays are meant for meditative practice focused on peace and health but all I can set my third eye on is a buffet of french toast.

Small Stones: January 25 Together we breathe      as we try to figure this life out.

Small Stones: January 24 When told it was snowing the students gathered in front of the window that overlooks Penn Avenue. Little hands held on to the windowsill and watched as each flake floated past. They watched. They smiled. They were together. There is still so much I need to learn.