Forest Classroom

(in praise of teachers*)

That first taste of autumn 

sparkles in our lungs

with a second childhood

of ember leaves and honey-

colored acorns falling

through memory.

The most dangerous thing

about anything is when

we get used to it, when

it no longer jolts or invites us

into a posture of self-discovery.

See all these Gospel trees 

about to arrive with long 

lines of open flame colors

prophesying to us about 

what it will take to survive

another winter?

I am them. You are them.

We are them, bodies within 

a body of various stages.

And the darkest soil that

is not you, that is not me,

holds us in place, secretly 

rooted, uneasily strong.

I pray you see it. I hope

walls fall down and offer

you a glimpse of how many

springs you’ve set in motion 

with your beautiful fall returning.

*This is a poem I wrote for an 08/24/25 gathering of local educators at Kanuga.