Lambs at School

Sheep dot the hill above the school where children yell. And play and learn. Around me, basketballs fly like popcorn, and jump ropes crack against blacktop.

I am overwhelmed. By silent, wooly innocence on the hill, contrasted with schoolyard voices raining down like a thunderstorm this spring day.  By the heart of that teacher over there — so obviously adored by happy little lambs of unchained energy and potential.

That teacher is of my body. I've known her since before time.  And, yet, I meet her new today, watching her confidently shepherd her flock from playground to classroom.  Her long chestnut hair plays with the breeze, she moves with ease. She is in her element, loving, teaching, providing  ground for the profound journey each child must take alone with the help of so many, including...

My daughter, the teacher. Sleepless nights spent dreaming of you, rocking you, waiting up for you, worrying about you, and mostly loving you. It all led to this day. This day of sheep and lambs and pride and love so big it can't be held. And I am broken. Wide open. In one of the best ways possible.


Carol Barrow
April, 2016