Afternoon On A Hill

        I will be the gladdest thing
            Under the sun!
        I will touch a hundred flowers
            And not pick one.

        I will look at cliffs and clouds
            With quiet eyes,
        Watch the wind bow down the grass,
            And the grass rise.

        And when lights begin to show
            Up from the town,
        I will mark which must be mine,
            And then start down!

                                                      By Edna St. Vincent Millay

It is late Sunday night and I am worried about the fish. I calm myself by deciding to go into school early tomorrow to check things out. Real early. In case something happened. Over the weekend. When I was not there.

I try to pinpoint my anxiety. Is it because I never had a class pet before?  Or that I only had my fish for less than a day when one died? Right in the middle of a reading group. My students insisted that the bright orange fish in the bottom corner of the tank was dead. I held out hope that maybe it was sleeping. After class, I took a closer look. Not good. 

The other teachers tell me that this is typical. Fish die. It happens. I notify the science center with a sense of failure. They had said I could get more fish if things worked out. Would this count against me?

I watch the three survivors. Do they look lethargic? Are they eating enough? Should I get more decorative plants for the tank? Do I really have go with the names the students selected for them? Is anyone this neurotic?

No. I am over thinking. The fish will be fine. This is nature. I’ll just set my alarm a little earlier.