A gust of spring blew ithrough my open bedroom window and stirred the white frilly curtains, making them sway and dance. I looked up from my homework to watch the graceful billows for a minute, and was about to return to the joys of physics, when it caught my attention. That scent, wet earth and fresh flowers. Cool breezy nights and clear, dew-filled mornings. The trademark of spring.

I inhaled the spring breeze, fresh and warm despite the fact that it was February, and remembered. I remembered when the biggest decision I made all day was what flavor ice cream I'd have for dessert. When the biggest thing I fought with my parents about was whether or not I could go out and play after dinner. When a trip to the store with Mom was an adventure. And when my biggest fear lurked below my bed. When I worried about catching a cold, not AIDS. When watching the news and reading the paper were grownups' burdens, not mine. When we thought nothing of playing in the woods at dusk, not knowing our parents were watching anxiously from bright kitchen windows. When the concept and pain of death had not yet reached me. And when friendships were simple and honest.

I remembered "kick-the-can," red popsicles, bedtime stories, and my unwillingness to enter the tub. I remember the bedtime from hell, piggybacks up the stairs, and the closet monster. I remember sudden spring showers, gloriously messy mud pies, and the shampoo that really did sting my eyes.

I smelled the clean springtime breeze, and I remembered all of these things. It made me anxious for the arrival of spring, because maybe, if I sat and smelled the fresh spring breeze long enough, I could recapture some of the carefree life of a child I

once knew. n