Write about: the school.
Any sort of school at all, no need to write about a real one.
Kat and I finally got around to transplanting the last of our onions, leeks, and shallots into the garden this morning. We didn't start nearly as many as we did last year, and that's a good thing - we ended up with a ridiculous amount last fall.
The weather is expected to get a little wet tomorrow so it's looking like a get indoor things done kind of day. Which is fine, because I've been ignoring that stuff for a while now.
There is wisdom in my walls. That must be why the children are always leaning against them at every opportunity. Learning through osmosis.
Countless lessons have been collected by these chalkboard brushes. I understand that the little ones think that they can consume every scrap of education that they can get their tiny fingers on, but I wish they wouldn't try to eat those dusty things. The teaches must watch them more closely.
The students sit at their desks and soak it all in, class after class, day after day, year after year. They cherish their time with me, I know it. I would, however, prefer if they could refrain from leaving notes for future generations to find carved into their desktops. Where do they get those knives, anyway?
My cooks create nutritious meals in my cafeteria. Brain food for blossoming minds, feeding their imaginations and bellies at the same time. The food fights concern me, I must admit. So much wasted effort in the kitchens beforehand, so much work for my janitors afterward.
Still, I wouldn't want to be any other sort of building. Lasting friendships and memories are made here. They will never forget me.
Even if most of them will not look back on me with fondness, they will think of me.