I rather like the tromp, tromp, tromp of my neighbors feet across my ceiling, their floor. I'm so freeking bored at work, now that the feds have audited us I have little to do except pack up for the school year. Bleh. Sometimes I want to block the little tiny window in my office door, and pull out my colored pencils to draw, draw, draw. The school board took away our pay steps this year and replaced them with a yearly percentage increase. Bastards, if they give they always take, too. I have 5 years under my belt and first year teachers will be making nearly as much as me, and more in some cases . . . the Monarchs are flitting in the garden, jade green chrsylis hang as if baubles on Gaia's lobes. The killdeer have hatched their first brood, and a little grass snake scared the crap out of my 3rd grade group as it slithered away from an overturned rock. The creamy,white lillies stir quietly on the lip of the pond and the cyprus are sending up their knees as dandelion tufts float through the breeze . . . It's a magical place I tell you, and even more so when you see the light of realization in that lone, rare child in the group, calmly observing while the rest carelessly tromp about.