|Message From The Board
Sometimes we forget what we have. It's a phenomenon to which no one is immune. It is a Wonderful Life. But for a short while George Bailey forgot that.
In a school like ours where we have amazing children, wonderful teachers, an abundance of resources, possibilities for success, and people who care not only about the well being of their own families but also about the well being of their neighbors and their neighbors' neighbors as well, we can always find reasons to be grateful here -- even if sometimes we forget to.
A long time ago Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem entitled "Snowflakes." There aren't too many things in this world that are as perfect - as unique - as a snowflake. Each one that's ever fallen from its birthplace in the sky is like every child who's ever been born - incredibly beautiful, unique, and in and of itself a reflection of something miraculous and awesome.
While the tone of the piece is somber and sad, something more powerful rests in a single line: "This [the snowflake] is the poem of the air..." And despite any challenge or sadness we face, our children are the poem of our hearts. This winter break, look for the miracles and the poems that are all around you, even if your heart is heavy. Thank you to every single parent, guardian, teacher, and child for everything you do to make our school a community.
Snowflakes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.