You might also enjoy this piece that the Lampeter Review asked me to write for them. The request came at the end of the Herbal Antibiotic book revisions (I had three months to write 165,000 words, in essence, rewriting the whole book) and I was fried by the time their request came in. Still, I like how it turned out. I hope you do, too,
The soft Flutter of Butterflies
I never was a good student in school - though first grade was fun. We made hand prints in wet plaster and walked in the woods looking for butterflies and learned the Spanish words for chocolate and hello.
That summer was wonderful. I got bright new shoes and ran and played with my friends and we flew kites and the days were as long as forever. But next year, school was different. Our teacher stood ramrod stiff at the head of the class and she was tall and thin and the mole on her chin vibrated with indignation. Her face disapproved of itself and she wrinkled her nose when she talked as if she were smelling something that polite people didn't mention.
She walked all the way to school wearing a backpack filled with rocks to make her posture better and she hit our hands with a ruler if we were naughty and gave us demerits if we talked out of turn and taught us that every word could only be pronounced one way and that the dinosaurs died because their brains were too small and it took a week for the nerve impulses to get from their tails to their heads.
I didn't like her very much and I began to think that school was something I would rather not do.
But when I told my mother I was informed that I didn't have a choice in the matter and that school was good for little children and that go I would. So, the years went by, as years do, and some teachers were better and some were not and I became as unconscious as unconscious could be.
I remember the day I began to wake up.
You can read the rest of it here: http://www.lampeter-review.com/issues/tlr_issue_3.pdf
THE LAMPETER REVIEW - Issue 3 - May 2011
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