I can't remember the spring of my youth.
I think I like the spring. Not because of the bees that buzz their warm song in my backyard, or the blossoms that sprout delicately along my walk. But because when I'm home for the break, I get to bask in the nostalgia of the greenery behind our small townhouse. Reminiscing over the times I spent rushing outside to meet my friends after school. Crossing over rocks to get to the other side of the creek while we scared each other with stories of a monster that would come out from beneath.
I remember the winter of my 5th grade year. It was so cold out, they canceled school for two days, I think. The snow wouldn't stop falling, and we thought the ice over the water was thick enough to skate on. Though, upon further investigation, it was not the perfect place to practice our triple axels. Rather, it was meant to be sunk into. To break and cause me to be submerged in my own embarrassment, reminding me of the harsh reality behind winter. Why I should have listened to my mom when she told me to wear those extra layers despite my wishes to look "cuter" without them.
Friends rushing to my side as a mixture of laugher and concern filled the air would remind me that I was not, in fact, a beautiful ice princess. I was more of a soaked and slowly forming ice cube, being ushered into the house with snow pants dripping wet over the laminate wood floors.
"I can't believe you actually tried to do something like that! If all your friends were jumping off a bridge, would you!?"
My mother's frustrated and worried voice rang in my ears as she had rushed to get my wet clothes off. My friends quickly rushing back out to go play as I now was made to stay inside the rest of the snow day. Forced to reflect on my actions while a tea kettle boiled over and a hot bath was drawn. It's amazing how I never caught a cold. Though my mother was quick to ask me, "Did I not teach you to have common sense? This is why I told you to wear layers. People get frostbite this way, what if you catch a cold?"
She would worry a lot, my mother. I did my best not to raise her blood pressure, staying out of trouble when I could. But once winter melted away into spring, along with it went my usual good behavior. Spending hours outside, making the sun have to keep up with our pace. Staying in the sky just a little longer as my friends and I would bike through the forest trail towards the lake. Wondering that if we teased the sun as it set, would we be able to uncover the hidden mysteries beneath the lake. What would happen if we stayed out closer to dusk and waited for the creatures that stalked the night. Rushing home when we realized it was close to dinner, only stopping our search so we could go fill our bellies in our respective homes (definitely not due to our fear of the dark).
I miss the spring, and rolling down the hills and in the grassy fields. Where we would see if it was really true that buttercups tasted like butter, and wonder why one girl had set up a ritual in the corner of the field made from cardboard. And there really is nothing like getting chased by carpenter bees on the way to our trailer for orchestra practice. Tripping over the metal ramp as the rain began pour down.
We mistook the crocus in the back of the school building for a poisonous flower. Claiming it's toxicity would poison our growth as we went into our final year of elementary. Though, now that I look back, that crocus was always my way to signify the beginning of spring. For it too had grown while the snow melted away during the winter, into a fresh new plant for us to see and pick at. Judging its petals just for being a "toxic" color, when in reality, it only had the sweetest things to offer had we chose to examine further.
I like the spring, I promise I do. I just can't help but mourn the lost memories of my once ongoing youth.