She shouldered her bag and glanced out at the tree, reflecting green in its early June growth.
Her mind ticked off a mental checklist. (She was always a lister.) Desk emptied. Car loaded. Keys turned in.
One more look around the room to take it all in, to absorb the light reflected from the emotional spectrum. The vibrant glow of voracious learning. The cool, clear trust between respected colleagues. The muted, quiet desperation of a teacher who saw herself slipping away from the person she wanted to be.
With equal parts strength and surrender, she turned out the light for what she knew would be the final time, and closed the door quietly behind.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things 
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