Nothing Gold

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is autumn. 

Today's tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series.

 

Nothing Gold

by Val Muller

 

Mrs. Paxton stepped down the hall. As she neared the classroom, Miss Summers looked up. Mrs. Paxton's shoes were such a giveaway. She never took to wearing sneakers, not even after the pandemic, like all the other teachers.

Mrs. Paxton didn't want to intrude, even though she wanted to, so she kept moving down the hall, listening to the clip-clop of her own heeled shoes in the vintage hallway. She chuckled, knowing the etymology of the word "sneaker" did indeed originate from its ability to sneak around. Not all words in the English language were so cut and dry. She went down a mental rabbit hole, remembering the old practice of literally cutting and drying herbs and other plants.

See?, she reminded herself. She would have plenty of things to think about during her retirement. There was nothing to worry about.

She neared the end of the hallway and eyed the poster on the wall. Homecoming. This would be her last one. It was a year of lasts, and since she had given up the yearbook, she had more time to consider each milestone. It bothered her, giving up the publication, but it was only fair, letting Miss Summers take over this year, while Mrs. Paxton was still here to mentor her if need be.

She turned back around and headed toward Miss Summers' classroom. Funny, she remembered when the rules for possessive apostrophes were different. She always thought of the people who updated all the style guides as this secret council, meeting in robes and performing chants and other rituals before making decisions about the sanctity of the language. Maybe she could do that in retirement--find out who changes the language rules and join them. Leave her mark on the academic world that way.

Miss Summers and the yearbook kids were reading a poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay." A classic one, but perhaps a little cliche to include on the back cover. But it was fine. Leave well enough alone.

Mrs. Paxton recited the famous poem to herself as she retreated to her classroom. She ran her fingers through her white hair. Leaf succumbs to leaf, she told herself. Miss Summers was the new greenery as she herself prepared to blow away in the wind.

She'd had her moments. Her golden years were behind her. She sat at her desk, vowing to clean out another file folder before her next class. But the golden rays of sun shone in through the day's heavy clouds. She looked out the window at the school's front lawn. In the golden rays, a PE class was doing aerobics in such unison, it seemed an otherworldly dance. And the lighting was just--

"Perfect!" Mrs. Paxton shouted, running down the hall. Her shoes slipped, so she took them off, hustling to Miss Summers' room. "Grab the cameras," she said. "A photo opp! Front lawn!"

The kids who'd had her last year knew that excited tone and hurried to get the cameras. Miss Summers looked startled, not yet having changed gears from the poem.

"A photo opp," Mrs. Paxton repeated to the startled teacher. "Gold. You've got to be gold while you can," she said, deciding to stop counting her lasts after all, knowing none would stay in the end, but that the golden hour could stretch toward eternity with the right outlook.

 

 

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/