Unplugged

A ragged wall of emerald marks the edge of the oval’s faded sage carpet

signaling the tempting out-of-bounds world beneath the stately pines.

Stripped of technology, clutching pens and paper, they are drawn past.

Past the ancient trees that stand proudly at parade-ground attention,

with shaggy pine green limbs raised towards the morning’s warmth.

These sentinels jealously guard the boundary of the schoolyard hustle.

Shifting shadows enfold the now scattered tribe of students who inhale  

the cool while they lean into the shade, enthralled by the foreign wildness.

The hum of voices and shrill of bells recede further from this pine frontier.

As the new day breathes through their guarded world, the pines shake

and sigh and moan and hum. The tribe quietens, facing their teacher.

Looking up, a freshly-unplugged-student asks, “What’s that sound miss?”

“That’s the sound of the wind whispering in the trees.”