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Joy Koons, who had two daughters in the school for the first year, wrote a description more poetry than prose

Blocks [Published in Mockingbird Newspaper, sometime in 1971]

On the wall of a room lives a structure of various shaped wooden blocks which would be envied by the most creative architect.

Stop and look long as the rounds and squares, the talls and smalls blend together into the whole of a free school. Odd angles, opposites set together in loving care to show the inmost nature of a group working with energy, watched by respect. So also do their lives blend and separate in endless repeats of total separation, total belonging. A tall angular one in the middle repeats on a corner and comes unstuck, set back only by a small round one -- no color, natural wood is the color, shaped essentially their maiden land, placed there lovingly to stay a natural color. (Some take on the color of red and blue, but not forever.

There are holes in some of the blocks. Some kids feel holey
In the middle and no one rushes in to cement the hole shut. Some do flow in and out touching the sides to heal the hole wound. Then life is understood not as an impaction but a constant movement to and fro.

Some there are solid without a hole. They may be strong, not feeling their outer edges will cave in when hammered away upon from the outside. But it is easier to let others in when there is space through from one end to the other like the spool of thread expressing invested form.
by Joy Koons

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