When did this happen?
I was just getting all used to February, and now we’ve got to change months? What’s up with that?
March is always a weird month for me. It’s always the last full month I have of being whatever age I am at the moment. It’s the weird month where Winter sort of half-packs her bags and thinks about moving out, but kicks up a fit every time you suggest she might have overstayed her welcome. The flowers come out, but it’s still chilly enough to whither the skin on your hands and require the use of sweaters.
I’m not over-fond of springtime. Early spring is fine, before the heat and the pollen settle in to stay for the next three months. Early spring in Anytown is cool, pleasant, and green, and makes me want to abandon my shoes by the nearest tree and march through the green grass, letting my toes taste the delicious newness of life that’s springing up under my feet. Maybe that’s why it’s called March. Maybe that’s why it’s called spring.
However, after that point, spring becomes full-fledged, sneeze-inspiring spring. After the first few warm days and warm rains, spring ceases to be fun for me.
My conception of time is the opposite of most people’s. I know that traditionally, spring has always been associated with rebirth and new beginnings. To me, however, spring is always the beginning of the end. Spring means parting ways. Spring means departure. Spring means the conclusion of happy days.
Fall always makes me think of beginnings. Fall leaves me optimistic about life. The air has the taste of newness, and the sky doesn’t look clearer or bluer to me than the way it does in fall. Fall means new opportunities. Fall means new friends. Fall means “hello.”
But spring always means “goodbye.”
Maybe this is because of graduation. The closer I get to the end of college, the more friends I see leave, scattered to the four winds—and never come back. In high school you were at least fairly certain that you’d see the same set of people the next year after summer break was over. But now, summer comes and goes, and new faces come, but fewer and fewer old faces return.
That’s the way it goes, I suppose. After all, one day I’ll leave, too.
Still. Spring is on its way, which means I must arm myself with boxes of tissues and hours of fiddle music. Winter’s time is almost up. Spring brings its share of joys, and I’ll embrace them. Dance through them, if I have to, just for the sake of dancing.