I'm expectant and bubbling--effervescent and impatient.
The semester is over. I've graded the students; I've graded the course & myself.
Work continues such as it is. Folks & products are heated & cooled. Oil lubricates and is washed away.
But I. I sit on the edge of a precipice.
It might not be a precipice (do my legs stretch before me in the dirt?)--I might be poised above four blades of browning grass.
Or. Or I might be clawing for air: a fledgling.