It is the day that spring woke up. Today I mowed the yard for the first time this season, and the smell of fresh cut grass awoke in me a long-dormant sense of promise and love and optimism and a general sense of completeness...that is far more senses than the mere olifactory stimulation should awaken, but awaken it did, and said enthusastically, "Yes! Life lives again!"
This emotive quality of spring also blooms memory--good and sweet and pure memory. I am taken back to August of 2000 when I had just moved into the dorm room I was to share with my best friend, Amy. Both of us were drunk on the most beautiful portions of life. This particular memory has us laying on Amy's bed with the windows and curtains wide open and the summer sun pouring in. We spoke of summer jobs and new friendships and then the conversation turned to love. Both of us were experiencing our first true loves, and the innocent naviete that invaribly exists within its seemingly boundless realms. I had Josh, she had Jay and they had us, mind, body and soul. We could see forever--we could go anywhere, do anything--we had a sense of invincibility from just talking about this strong and primal thing we were defining as love. Laying there with my dearest friend, open and honestly speaking from the overflowing of our 19-year-old hearts--it was so pure and innocent and perfect.
Today feels that way: though love fades and friendships flicker, though the most jaded of realities infests with age, it is possible again. All things are possible to she who believes, and today, I believe.
