School Hallway

I see this view quite a bit, only not slightly skewed to the side thank goodness! I thought that little edit made it more interesting though.

I am often struck at how relatively empty and quiet the hallways are this year given all the changes brought about by the pandemic.

Not to be too grim, but today's poem is a reminder that other generations of children have also felt the pall of an outside threat within the school building.

There Have Come Soft Rains, by John Philip Johnson

In kindergarten during the Cold War,
mid-day late bells jolted us,
sending us single file into the hallway,
where we sat, pressing out heads
between our knees, waiting.

During one of the bomb drills, 
Annette was standing.
My mother said I would talk on and on
about her, about how pretty she was.
I still remember her that day,
curly hair and pretty dress,
looking perturbed the way
little children do.
Why Annette? There's nothing
to be upset about--
The bombs won't get us,
I've seen what's to come--
it is the days, the steady
pounding of days, like gentle rain,
that will be our undoing.