…and it ends on the porch.

I’m not all too sure where it began. And at this point, it doesn’t seem to matter. Its late April, due to be 91 degrees tomorrow, I’ve rekindled my love for unsweetened ice tea (thanks dad) and two trees provide subtle cover between their green leaves and pink flowers. Reminisce of late evening weekend decadence are piled in the corner, while once structured candle wax seals the lumiere to the porch.

It’s been nearly a year since graduation and I feel no less excited for tomorrow than I did June 17th 2008. While “big life events” seem to benchmark our memories, graduations, weddings and birthdays are not the events that I recall. Hacky sack during AP Government outweighs prom by light years. Porch nights and Mario Kart over shadow move-in-day like king sheets on a twin bed. And walks that start before dinner and end after breakfast may be the pinnacle of my past, yet.

As the birds answer their own questions and have more to pick at, off the branches of trees, I’m having a hard time holding the structure of the week/weekend. It all blends together, the clothes do not change, my habits stay consistent and I don’t look forward to two days any more than I do the other five. I’ve always appreciated times of discomfort and downright agony as times when I could really look at myself. Cause who’s ever aware enough to scrutinize anything when they’re happy?

Well, it seems for the first time, that I am aware of myself and in no state of discomfort, either physically or mentally. (Canvas slip-ons and linen pants- case in point.)

This is not to say I haven’t enjoyed, and more importantly appreciated spring in the past. Is life what I’ve made of it, or how I remember it?

The ice in my tea is beginning to melt and the record just ended. Seems like a good time to grab something long sleeve.

--d.