There’s no time more enchanting than a spring evening. Those nights that are just on the cusp of summer, with a slight breeze just cool enough to sigh by your bare legs, and the air just humid enough to breathe in the delicate aroma of the shy blossoms that are slowly peeking out of the branches. It’s nights like these when you go on a walk on your own, feeling some strange sentiment that isn’t quite sadness and isn’t quite nostalgia – not relief but anticipation. It’s almost like that crisp autumn day just before the first day of school, but more of an exhale than an inhale.
It’s nights like these where you put your hands in your pockets and reflect on the past year. You think about how much you’ve grown, which is almost mind-blowing because you think of how much you thought you had grown just even first coming into college. But then you compare yourself to the underclassmen now and realize that you’ve aged. This growth might have come through travel or through summers or just with time. But you realize you see your friends differently, you see your family differently, you see yourself differently. College is no longer the college you first stepped foot in. The upperclassmen that were seniors and juniors when you were a freshman are long gone and now the remaining, tangible evidence of your time as college student are graduating this year. What upperclassmen will you secretly be in love with now? Who will act as your framework and guidance in this little bubble? Where did the time go?
And then you wonder what the summer will bring. Will you finally have that summer fling you’ve always dreamed of having? The one where you go to dinner and then walk in the park, holding hands, and then find yourself opening your eyes to the soft sunlight in the morning? Or the one where you go driving with the windows down and stop at some vista point to watch the sun set? This might be the first summer that you’re on your own in a new or old city, with quick steps to work everyday, sunglasses on, stopping for an Americano and feeling extra mature. Or this could be the summer where you go back home while you can and spend time in your hometown, with the remaining old friends as the group dwindles down every summer.
But then it’s that spring evening again. You breathe in again and the tall grass lightly brushes your sandals as you turn and slowly walk back. All you can hear are distant cars and voices that eventually dissolve into the evening air.