Haiku

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Prosies

If you like me,
you'll like them too:
Annalisa
Bitter Girl
Sooz
Green Fairy
Jay
Jeanette Winterson
Jen Langley
Maganda
Zeldman

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August 25, 2003

Monday. End of summer. The acorns are gathered on the path between the Longwood T stop and the the Riverway. Every day, I pass through that little enclave of wildness, with the gentle arches of the oak trees. And the acorns have been falling for the past six weeks or so, reminding me of the decline of the season.

Yesterday, walking to the S&S, we saw a crabapple dropping its sticky harvest in a neighbor's driveway. Crabapples always remind me of the front walk of Stamford High School on the first day of school, all those sour little fruits mashed underfoot by anxious adolescents.

The faded grandeur of those municipal buildings.

You know, it's funny—at the time, I didn't realize how lucky I was to be attending a school that had an entire floor devoted entirely to art classes, that had a drama club whose budget allowed for the cost of set construction materials, and lighting equipment rented from a stage and lighting equipment place in far-away New Haven. We thought we were poor and underprivileged, because the kids at Greenwich High School had clip-on microphones and a real sound system in their auditorium.

But overall, I was really privileged to learn what I did at such an early age. To make a couple of class trips down to Manhattan to see the Met and French films, to study the likes of the Impressionists, to learn the difference between the sound of an oboe and a clarinet. Hell, we even had a literary magazine in my high school.

Overall, I've been blessed with my public education.

And blessed with my love life, too. But that, perhaps, is another story, and one I'm not quite willing to share yet.