Oh my god. Windows down, smarting wind, blossoms of sun, violently beautiful shadows, meadow shine, moss smell, earthen uplift, tree-sap bend, springtime satiation.
Oh goodness. And all the grace of the sky falling on my head. And all the wonder of childhood falling into my skin.
First day as the Kindergarten assistant. I wanted to melt into the room. And sob. So beautiful. So soft, so dreamy, so sacred. All those things that Waldorf is- held so warmly in tiny hands. 3 and 4-year-olds. Sheepskins piled or laid out for tired child bodies; hand sewn pillows stuffed with hulls; homemade tea just swelling a saucer; tiny cups on tiny wooden boards; kneading bread dough early in the morning; letting it rise; warm rolls just pulled fresh out of the oven, smelling up the cottage room all morning, spread over with homemade butter and tossed open with tiny hands; wide eyes, those sleepy, awakened child eyes; all the sweet, loved toys – wooden, wool or silk, all tender with age and life; the shimmering pastel silks that glide across the rings of the wood; the large hollowed stumps with wool gnomes tucked into them; the softly passing story; the sliding, singing voice of teacher that glows throughout. The day, the swelling morning, the silent rain shower, the cacophony of laughter while sliding down the slide. The embraces, the gentle touches, the swift motion to fix a little girl’s hair. The songs, the singing. The songs, the singing.
The things, the things, the tenderness of voice, the tenderness of light, the gentleness of promise. The promise of fragility. The sacredness of the profane. The day opening, at last. At long last.