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March 24, 2021 - Image 13

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The Michigan Daily

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M

y series of thoughts on sea-
sons: If summer is a glass of
cold lemonade, and winter’s a

crossword at candle-light, then fall is a
call from a very old friend, and spring is
a coffee at sunrise.

Summer is for enjoyment, fall is for

ambition and winter is for persever-
ance. Spring is for rebirth. I’ve always
felt that the first signs of spring marked
the new year. I don’t care about what the
calendars in my life say — New Year’s on
the first of January, Rosh Hashanah on
the first of Tishrei. Sure, they’re nice
celebrations, but I’ve never found them
to capture the air of change that reintro-
duces itself each spring.

Spring is refreshing. It cleans the

year’s slate. It breathes in crisp air and
excitement. In spring, we reemerge
from the spaces we’ve holed up in for
months, taking refuge from the winter
chill. The warmth thaws our sidewalks
and porches and parks, revealing a sea-
son of leisure and camaraderie. It’s like
stepping out of the shade into a patch of
sunlight — suddenly, the world seems
just a bit brighter.

Spring is inherently hopeful. Seasonal

depression wanes as snow banks recede.
Dewy grass marks each morning with
new opportunities for rejuvenation and
growth. You can hear birds chirping in
the trees, inviting the rest of us to join
them in their celebration.

Over these past few weeks, I’ve taken

to walking around campus. I’ve found
that I’m not the only one. On a warm-
er day, students are out in their yards,
spending time with their roommates.
Plus, the downtown area is almost back
to its former glory: packed sidewalks,
busy storefronts and cheery residents.
It’s amazing that all it takes to repop-
ulate the streets of Ann Arbor is a day
where the thermometer breaks 50 de-
grees.

One spring is stolen, the next is re-

claimed. The contents may differ, but
the framework remains. A cycle contin-

ues beyond our control, but our goal is
to keep things from staying the same.

One unique aspect of this spring in

particular is that it’s long overdue. It
follows a year of suffering — over half
a million U.S. COVID-19 fatalities and
counting. One year ago, our spring was
ripped from the palm of our hands.
Without much information about the
unfamiliar threat spreading globally,
all we could do was nervously wait for
further guidance. And we were forced
to sacrifice the hallmark of spring: a
peaceful return outdoors.

Anniversaries affect us biologically,

even if we don’t realize it at the mo-
ment. Thinking back to this time last
year, my memories are all tinged with
fear. I’m naturally a pretty nervous per-
son, but even my most easy-going peers
had little to say in the vein of comfort.
That kind of societal trauma is bound to
have lasting effects.

Still, the warm weather offered a

slight padding to the weight of the on-
coming catastrophe. Our social circles
were constricted, but I was one of the
fortunate few who still had access to
the various natural comforts of subur-
ban living and spend time outdoors by
myself or with friends. Even a short stay
in nature has been clinically shown to
improve mental health. For at least the
first portion of the pandemic, many
were able to use our environment to our
advantage.

Once winter hit, though, our environ-

ment turned on us. Forced indoors by the
harsh Michigan winter, the pandemic felt
even more insurmountable. Just a month
ago, the country faced one of the worst
winter storms in recent history. And
for those experiencing homelessness
to whom winter already represented a
threat to health and safety, the social dis-
tancing complications of the pandemic
were an added stress on the underfund-
ed shelter system. But amidst mounting
cynicism that the winter would ever sub-
side, the spring returned once again.

The seasons ebb and flow with no re-

gard for societal happenings. Sometimes
that means we face devastating disas-
ters, but other times it means that we’re
met with a much-needed sunny day. The
weather is just a backdrop for our lives,
and it’s our responsibility to do what we
can. This spring, we’re taking the nec-
essary precautions to remain safe while
making up for lost time.

Jovial children stumble through the

playground to the field. They greet a
patch of dandelions, intentions still con-
cealed. Eventually, their daily pilgrim-
age presents a prize. The flowers, once
a promise, now float wishes through the
skies.

Despite all my talk of using spring to

forge a new and different path for the fu-
ture, I often revel in the nostalgia of cer-
tain springtime traditions. Every time I
step in a fresh patch of mud, I’m trans-
ported back to elementary recess in ear-
ly March. As soon as the bell would ring,
my friends and I sprinted past the four
square courts and monkey bars, back to
the corner of the field where a patch of
dandelions grew each year.

I thought they were beautiful, a

bright yellow confirmation that spring
had sprung. My friends and I picked
the petals off one-by-one, musing about
whatever it is that occupies elementa-
ry-age kids’ dreams. We crafted flower
crowns — before they were trendy —
and donned our new regalities until the
teacher inevitably told us to throw them
out.

But the greatest gift of the dandelions

came when they shed their yellow pet-
als for a puffy exterior, filled with what
my friends and I assumed must be magi-
cal properties. We would rush out to the
patch and spend the hour blowing the
dandelion seeds into the wind. They say
that if you could get all the seeds in a
single breath, you’d earn a wish.

I didn’t know until years later that all

we were really doing was planting new
dandelion seeds for the coming season.

I felt bad when I first found out, because
this is also when I learned that most
people (and by that I mean all botanists
and gardeners) considered dandelions
a weed. But I still don’t believe it. To
me, dandelions are never a nuisance.
They represent a perpetual promise of
past, present and future springtimes all
bound together by fleeting wishes from
a group of little girls.
S

pring enters slowly, taking her
time. She whispers, then mum-
bles, then belts sublime. She’s got

my trust and earned my praise. So thank
you, spring, forever and always.

All of this is to say I absolutely love

the spring. And I love this spring in par-
ticular. It’s been a real saving grace as
we hopefully near the end of an endless
year. In the sun, I feel like a kid again,
savoring the peace and joy that a simple
jaunt in nature can provide.

Spring can’t solve all the world’s

problems, especially with the laundry
list we’ve accrued since this time last
year. It can, however, release some of
the tension that’s built after months of
insular anticipation. That is spring’s
purpose, and its gift.

I sometimes wish I didn’t live in

Michigan, particularly in the winter.
But without that frame of reference (or,
logistically, that climate), I couldn’t
truly appreciate the wonders of spring-
time. I use this season as a time of re-
flection, so hypothetically, I wouldn’t
be who I am today without the guid-
ance of spring.

This is my love letter to springtime.

I thank you for your hospitality, your
enlightenment and your dandelions.
Thank you for the year’s first late-night
bonfires; for Daylight Saving Time and
the extra hour of life it offers; for gazpa-
cho and for iced tea; for my birthday, my
graduations, both past and future, and
all the amazing experiences I can’t yet
name.

I love you, spring. I hope you come to

love me all the same.

statement

ILLUSTRATION BY KATHERINE LEE

Wednesday, March 24, 2021 — 13

BY MELANIE TAYLOR, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT

A love
letter to the
burgeoning
spring

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

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