It is a sleepy Spring evening. I walk slowly, drinking the entire scene in. I make my way off the road, and onto the brown dead grass of last Fall. You can just see new grass beginning to come up, though it hasn’t quite made it yet. Past that lays a pond, thawing out after a long cold Winter. The cloying smell of mud and water hits my senses and reached deep into my past. Back to the walks down the beaten up railroad tracks, past the wetlands and next to the lake. I remember the hum of the Peepers. The way the Geese threw out their lonely cries before touching down gracefully on the lake. Once you see these things you never forget. They become part of you, no matter where you may wander.
It brings back the memories of the past. Those endless Spring days when anything seemed possible. In many ways it still does. Yet now it is tempered with a realistic cautiousness. An understanding that dreams will not just come to me, that I will have to fight to achieve them.
Yet as I sit here, listening to the cheerful songs of birds outside, I fall into my old habits. That childlike optimism returns to me, and for a moment can smile, looking forward to Spring.