It is Tuesday and this is a "Slice of Life" (SOLS) for Two Writing Teachers. Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.
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Today, delightfully, was a snow day - a bonus day off, after a three day weekend. I decided to slip a long walk in before the snow hit, heading down to my neighborhood walking path along Sligo Creek in the early morning.
Yesterday, we had weather in the 50s...today we would not leave the 20s.
Just before snow, there is a waiting.
Just before snow, change is in the air.
Just before snow, it is so beautiful outside.
At this early morning hour,
the temperature felt, somehow, both cold and warm.
There was more moisture in the air, yet the breeze felt dry.
The light of the sky seemed to be simultaneously darkening and brightening.
I was amazed, alert, aware.
Yes, change was coming.
The ground itself was brown with leaves and dirt, only the slightest speckles of snow falling from the sky. It was some time before the snow began to stick to surfaces. For this one hour walk, I was suspended, poised, hovering between two weather extremes. Yes, change was coming.
Nature was giving me a full sensory experience of transition.
Pulled between two possibilities,
there is heightened tension,
not fully knowing what would be.
Just before snow, I could see clearly the work of change.
I think the place 'in-between' - as you leave one thing and enter another - is dynamic, restless, filled with invisible movement. What comes next?
It strikes me that this is why transitions are so hard for young children.
Giving up one thing and moving towards the next.
Young children need to know,
What comes next?
When it is time to do something new, aren't there always a few who run away? or cry? or avoid?
Is it the space "in-between"?
Is there a not knowing? an unpredictability?
Thus, the essentialness of having routines,
thinking through and planning how you will move from one thing to the next -
thinking it through for each individual child.
How will you help the children leave / stop what they are doing?
How will the children know?
What are your cues? Is there a visual? a special sound?
Are there children that need to be forewarned, to be reminded ahead of time?
Is there a way to make the transition more joyful? more magical? a song, chant, or dance, perhaps?
Is there a way for children to participate in this transition? to feel a sense of control over what is happening? a job or task that they might be responsible for?
Where is the pleasure of this new thing they will be doing?
As I walked, I saw the most beautiful bird,
unknown to me,
grey-blue with a white ring around its neck,
somewhat 'plump' (the cold?),
flying along the creek, landing every once and awhile,
starting again, each time I approached,
landing aways, up the creek, in the direction I was walking,
flying off again as I got near.
We continued this way some four or five lengths,
when I lost him in the transitioning light.
He became invisible,
melded with the rock, the whitening path, the dark creek water.
My eyes searched, I could not find him,
but heard him only,
until,
at last,
his chirp also disappeared.
This beautiful bird was the magic of this morning's approaching snow,
bringing both suspense and pleasure,
as nature transitioned.
Today, delightfully, was a snow day - a bonus day off, after a three day weekend. I decided to slip a long walk in before the snow hit, heading down to my neighborhood walking path along Sligo Creek in the early morning.
Yesterday, we had weather in the 50s...today we would not leave the 20s.
Just before snow, there is a waiting.
Just before snow, change is in the air.
Just before snow, it is so beautiful outside.
At this early morning hour,
the temperature felt, somehow, both cold and warm.
There was more moisture in the air, yet the breeze felt dry.
The light of the sky seemed to be simultaneously darkening and brightening.
I was amazed, alert, aware.
Yes, change was coming.
The ground itself was brown with leaves and dirt, only the slightest speckles of snow falling from the sky. It was some time before the snow began to stick to surfaces. For this one hour walk, I was suspended, poised, hovering between two weather extremes. Yes, change was coming.
Nature was giving me a full sensory experience of transition.
Pulled between two possibilities,
there is heightened tension,
not fully knowing what would be.
Just before snow, I could see clearly the work of change.
I think the place 'in-between' - as you leave one thing and enter another - is dynamic, restless, filled with invisible movement. What comes next?
It strikes me that this is why transitions are so hard for young children.
Giving up one thing and moving towards the next.
Young children need to know,
What comes next?
When it is time to do something new, aren't there always a few who run away? or cry? or avoid?
Is it the space "in-between"?
Is there a not knowing? an unpredictability?
Thus, the essentialness of having routines,
thinking through and planning how you will move from one thing to the next -
thinking it through for each individual child.
How will you help the children leave / stop what they are doing?
How will the children know?
What are your cues? Is there a visual? a special sound?
Are there children that need to be forewarned, to be reminded ahead of time?
Is there a way to make the transition more joyful? more magical? a song, chant, or dance, perhaps?
Is there a way for children to participate in this transition? to feel a sense of control over what is happening? a job or task that they might be responsible for?
Where is the pleasure of this new thing they will be doing?
As I walked, I saw the most beautiful bird,
unknown to me,
grey-blue with a white ring around its neck,
somewhat 'plump' (the cold?),
flying along the creek, landing every once and awhile,
starting again, each time I approached,
landing aways, up the creek, in the direction I was walking,
flying off again as I got near.
We continued this way some four or five lengths,
when I lost him in the transitioning light.
He became invisible,
melded with the rock, the whitening path, the dark creek water.
My eyes searched, I could not find him,
but heard him only,
until,
at last,
his chirp also disappeared.
This beautiful bird was the magic of this morning's approaching snow,
bringing both suspense and pleasure,
as nature transitioned.