Someone I know committed suicide. He was a science teacher, and his classes were wonderful. I do not remember him well, but remember looking forward to seeing him, to learning under him. He took us on hikes, taught us about nature, and in one of my fondest memories, introduced us to his pet tarantula.
For all of the tarantula’s size, it was still something small, would fit in my tiny five year old hands. I remember how beautiful it was, the predator’s elegance. It crouched in my palms, and I could barely feel its weight.
Before then, I had only ever known fear of spiders; that day my mind was opened as I felt a protective love for the arachnid, a fear for its safety.
And what my teacher taught me will live on.
Goodbye wise sage, you broken fool,
I’ll not see you again.
We loved you much, we all forgot,
and now the darkness falls.
Infinite gulf, our hands across,
I pray, might one day reach . . . .