When I was younger, spring was always a time of reunions. Flowers peaked their heads up for the first time in months, trees welcomed their luscious leaves, and us neighbourhood children met in the round cul-de-sac to finish our game of kick-ball, that was interrupted by the cool days of winter. As the sun became closer to the Earth, our relationships with one another became tight-knit. Many days, we’d spend our time picking the ubiquitous dandelions and setting them in jars of water for our mothers. Other days, when the world seemed to be downpouring and the sun was hidden behind the stormy clouds, we would huddle up in each others houses, watching cartoons and eating a multitude of unhealthy snacks. And later, when the sun emerged, bright and well, from the oppression of the clouds, we would run back outside to play games of tag and hopscotch on the slippery pavement.
As spring came to a close, and summer rolled around, our days became longer with the absence of school and the same routine formed as was in spring. However, like spring, summer had to end and as we gathered our book bags and made our way to the bus stop, we realized that our time spent together was coming to a close. Like the falling leaves among the trees. And in one final effort to hold onto the memories that were made, we’d gather in that round cul-de-sac to play a quick game of kick-ball until the intruding winter air sent us back into our homes, always awaiting for that first day of spring.