Though the seasons repeat themselves endlessly in a loop I’ve known since kindergarten, I still managed to be surprised at every season change. The four months of each weather pattern is too short for me to become accustomed to it, enjoy it, and then recognize it’s passing. No, instead I’m always caught off guard by the EXACT SAME SEASONS that NEVER CHANGE. Every time, they’re the same. And every time, I’m shocked. Like it’s the first springtime I’ve ever seen.
Today on my morning walk, I saw robins pecking at the ground by the tree at the corner of the baseball diamond. Farther along, the frozen puddle that has been cracking the sidewalk all winter has begun to thaw. I only wore a light jacket today, rather than bundling up. I am nineteen years old. Nineteen years I’ve seen the months flip by and days ticked off on the calendar; still: when I get home, I shout downstairs:
“Is it spring already??!”