Birdie's cane is something like herself-- it's classy and beautiful, but also every-day.
It has a blonde wood handle and a golden wood body; the body has a faint pattern on it.
When I pick it up and hand it to her, it feels like I know something about her.
It has a spirit, and in its straight, supple sturdiness it reminds me of her spine
when she is walking and holding herself very upright.
It reminds me of a time once, when a student sneezed in the hallway, and she said,
quite severely and with no hesitation in her speech, "cover your mouth."
It reminds me of what a teacher really is, a guide and support, a sort of staff
you can hold on to for a while, as a student.
It travels with her and is a part of her that she occasionally lays aside,
but tonight, handing it to her, I feel like I have done something intimate,
like gripped her ankle or held her hand.
