Gemotions

Ms. Abernathy stared at the small, intricately carved wooden bird resting on her desk. It was a hummingbird, its wings seemingly frozen mid-flight. A note, penned in elegant cursive, lay beneath it: “Thank you, Ms. Abernathy, for teaching me to see the world. From, Leo.” A warmth bloomed in her chest. She picked up the bird, her thumb tracing the delicate carvings.

A sudden urge to reorganize her classroom took over. She’d been meaning to, for ages. Throwing open the window, she let in a blast of fresh air, the scent of spring blossoms. Chairs scraped as she rearranged them into a circle, ready for a discussion. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, and for the first time in weeks, the room felt vibrant, alive.

She hummed as she went, the hummingbird held in her hand, a tangible symbol of something she’d almost forgotten: the impact a teacher could have. She couldn’t wait to meet her new students.