First Day of School

         The golden light of the early morning sun spills through the windows of my home, filling the rooms with the freshness of a new day.

         A cup of coffee in my hand, I stand in a room near the large frame window, lace curtains cast aside, and watch as the sounds of children dance across the tree lined streets and fenced lawns of the neighborhood.

         They come, ejected from the suddenly gaping doors of the once silent homes, onto the street.  Young girls and boys of all shapes and sizes come dashing, jumping, skipping, flooding the street with noise.  All of them flowing toward the corner where the bus is waiting, gray-brown smoke hanging behind, doors open near the front.

        Groups of girls in two's and three's, four's and five's.

        Groups of boys changing size so often as to defy the counting of their members.  Groups form, dissolve, reform, only to dissolve again and then reform. 

         The groups, segregated, as if by design, float near each other without touching.

         Boys, moving together, pushing, pulling, ducking, dodging, voices loud, boisterous, some high pitched, others breaking between the highs and lows of words, seem to ignorer the girls.

         Girls, clutching books and bags to their chest, watching to see what the boys do, and then, giggling, hands covering mouths, bend heads close to exchange secrets.

         Girls, in starched dresses the hues of spring and summer; blues, greens, reds and yellows.  Hair of brown, black, red and blond, braided to the sides, or falling free down their shoulders, or cut short just below the ears.  Multi-colored ribbons and clips holding the locks in place, for a while.

         Others, boys and girls, with new jeans in a glorious, wonderful, rainbow of blues flash by.  Boys in T-shirts and girls in crisp, starched blouses.  New white tennis shoes, brilliantly reflecting the morning sun, soon to collect the stains of the day.

         Some, arms akimbo, signaling to others, run to meet long lost friends not seen since the setting of the sun the previous day.

         Small groups come together forming larger groups.  Larger groups exchange free radicals as a girl or boy spin away and coalesce with another group.  Some move in quick burst between groups, others run, all out, to overtake special friends while still others trudge along the street as if moving across an ancient sea bed, their pockets filled with lead.

         Orbiting these groups are a few children.  Some few, always, stand away from every group that form.  Watching, waiting, wanting to be included, alone.

         This migration from home to bus stop marks the end of summer and the start of fall.  No, the leaves have not changed from green to brown.  None have fallen.  The lawns must still be cut and trimmed every week into the foreseeable future, but it is the first day of fall.  The first day of school.