A Cold January

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The month is only half way through. The first week of classes are done. I can see the weariness in my students’ eyes. Almost two years of a pandemic. 115 students between my two classes. I had my property students journal today, but I called it free writing. It will help them with essay writing to have them get into that flow of writing. My essay is two weeks away from its deadline. I can work on that tomorrow morning.

So many deaths this week.

People who were young and old. From sudden death to a prolonged death. They were all deaths. And illnesses that were endearing. I welcome the weekend, because it diminishes the chance of getting the coronavirus.

In the early days of the pandemic, I found this wird on the Sandala website. I knew it would work. I printed out the wird, posted it in every room, and read as much possible. Self-preservation is a form of ibadat. And if I have slacked, the constant death serves as a reminder. I can abscond here.


Tagore will offer more certitude.

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light your way.

“Peace My Heart” by Rabindranath Tagore

Weekend snow and ice storm

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Nadia Ahmad

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