Moving On

My last day at work. Files dumped into recycle bins, books sent to the library, the computer erased, the office made ready for its next occupant.

The plants have not fared well. Into the wastebasket go the remains of the Crown of Thorns – a friend's gift when I took over as Department Chair. It likely died during one of those interminable meetings where egos reign and little is accomplished.

Mementoes cover one wall. A cartoon drawn by an artist friend shows humans and animals at a round table. Ah, those heady days when I thought environmental issues could be solved by bringing together the oil men, foresters ranchers, indigenous peoples, hunters and environmentalists. One new park and one hundred failures.

A number of teaching awards hang on the wall. On occasion I run into a middle-aged stranger who holds out a hand and says, "You probably don't remember me, but I had you for a class when I was at university." I'm touched by these unexpected meetings and say, "I hope the class did you some good."

golden leaves –
the jingle of RV keys
in my pocket

R. Rasmussen, Haiku Harvest, 2:4, Spring-Summer, 2006.