Mayflies on the Podium

Chalk dust floats in the morning light. Teacher Wang gestured at the empty blackboard, while his wife wiped the non-existent dust with a scarf in the back seat. He counted "Hello, classmates" thirty-eight times, and wiped the scarf to the one hundred and third time. The sunflowers bloomed quietly on the windowsill, like countless springs he could never count. It turns out that forgetting is another kind of arrival, and he is always on the podium, talking about his original intention that no one can hear.