Forging a Book

School starts the week after next, and I drive a school bus. It’s going to be a major shift of hats that I wear: from introverting to acting the extrovert; from driving a large bus, I am shifting to driving a special needs run; from having a relaxing summer at home to the coming cold months of anticipating the need to dig out from deep snows in order to arrive at school, just in case they don’t call a snow day. These are just the facts of life. There are still irons in the air. Some of the irons I am juggling feel like they still bear the heat of the blacksmith’s forge. In a certain way, all the choices that we make and the consequences which those choices bear, shape us as the heat of the forge and the hammering of the blacksmith’s hammer on the anvil shape the destiny of the iron. I have done some of that work in my life too, shaping shoes to fit a horse’s hoof. That was not work I was temperamentally cut out for, but I do have the experience of it.