Friday, November 4, 2011

Sunless Sky.

When the occasional light beams down from a small opening in the heavy autumn clouds, it lands on the trees’ leaves in a graceful way that gives an entirely new meaning to my definition of color.

And in my quiet conversation lessons on long afternoons, I only feel tense and cold, wet from a hurried walk in the rain. 

“Do you like the color Y-E-L-L-O-W?”
“Yes, I like yellow.”

How simple and plain, boring and eventually ugly the colors that fall from my mouth seem. And what is yellow then, when I see her from my bedroom window, dancing on determined leaves, setting fire to Oak trees, bringing a sensation of heat in the autumn chill? Is she the same yellow from the I Spy game in Felisa’s darkened living room? A covered pillow sitting on a faded white couch?  Clearly the answer is no. Spoken she is yellow and seen she is golden. Vibrant. Radiant.  And how am I supposed to teach the feeling of sun kissed in this weather—when it only comes out de vez en cuando, when I’m all alone standing at the glass.

Fall rainstorms indicate nature’s retreat.  The cold edges its way in, the wind scurries me indoors.  This rain is not an awakening nor a renewal, no spring blossoms are budding nor are green grasses reaching up from the earth.  This is a shower before sleep, an outdoor housecleaning before the long still nap of winter.

Unfortunate also, that the November rain has moved in before I’ve received my first human paycheck and in causation will remain puddle jumping in my second-hand purple velour flats.  But patience is a virtue, and so, I’m learning, is frugality, so I shall wait another human week before making a low fashion, nature resistant boot purchase.  And that issue could’ve been easily averted if the the fake leather boots—brown paint peeling—I found on a park bench, while on a run, last Sunday, weren’t 1.5 sizes too big and ridiculously floppy in the toe.

Evident from the plunge in my livelihood these past weeks (attributed also to my being out of caffeine free tea and embarrassingly in need of a haircut) is my dependence on the sun.  Before the autumn hour change, I struggled to choke back the desire of wailing out in sadness, in protest of the counter-human and completely unnatural timetable of 8 a.m. class.
The moon is still out!
At least now, after last week’s “Fall back”, I watch the light slowly change as I walk and can teach first period with a wee bit of natural light joining us in the educational facility’s fluorescence. 

But now it’s the rain, soft light but dark clouds, and I’m often cold and always bootless, barely fitting underneath my see-through pink plastic child size umbrella.  I arrive to school with wet feet, wet sleeves, and a moist backpack. 

I’m just not ready for the sun’s seasonal farewell. 
Stay here!
I need you!
The confusion about life, this place, and this place in my life (not to mention the displeasure of speaking at an ice melting speed with crystal clear pronunciation all day) dissipates, just a bit, when the sun decides to shine.  For those who live in Seattle, for the Irish folks consoling in the pubs as well, I salute you, for this wet sad sunless sky is surely life sucking.

But at least my umbrella came with a plastic red whistle attached, so I can screech at all the kids to get to class when the recess bell rings.