South Burlington, VT

The end of another work-day, and I'm struck again by how incredibly blessed this little patch of land feels. The kids have all left, the counselors are gone, and as the cooling air traces patterns through the tall grasses and wraps itself around our building, the day feels - full. Gentle. Complete.

I feel complete.

All summer long, I've closed these doors with gratitude, sending up prayers of contentment and humility at the way the universe provided me with this time of respite. My days have been filled -sometimes overly so - with games and lessons, songs and gentle interventions, the small frustrations and gloriously spontaneous moments of ridiculous, absurd perfection that only children can create. It's hard to comprehend generosity of this magnitude; hard to imagine that taking on just one little role in such a seemingly small community can bring about such richness, or to believe that one smiling red-roofed building, ringed on all sides by ponds and plants and endless clouds, can be the hub of such a vital, vibrant web. But it does, and it is.

And so I spend my days teaching and tickling, and come evening, I turn out the lights and walk out into rich sunlight or the gentle, purple dusk. And each time, I feel my heart splay open anew with such intense humility and gratitude, it feels as though giant, magnificently gentle hands are sinking their fingers into my chest and pulling the hardened, weathered shell apart. And so I've walked through this summer, beating and exposed, with no recourse but to absorb all the beauty and grace and reality that I can see.

It's hard to imagine that a few days from now, all of this will be over, and I'll be leaving this job, this state, this simple, easy lifestyle, in favor of something so much less secure and ill-defined. From brunch bag to baby to the brass key I wear around my neck; this has been such a silly, sweet progression. I have been, and continue to be, so very blessed.

Truly, "my cup overfloweth..."

I am so grateful.