I don't know what it is about the change of seasons. . .
but every time a new season comes shimmying in, I feel so ridiculously nostalgic.
Tons and tons of memories, good and bad (mostly good), compile in my mind and settle there for what seems to be the longest time, stirring and simmering. I think them over, some of them more than once. I think of the change that comes with every season, and the change that has happened in my life thus far.
I think of the change that has yet to come, but is creeping on the horizon like sunlight. It scares me. It even makes me a little sad.
But that is, I suppose, what nostalgia is: that melancholy yearn for the past, that incredibly wise fear for the future. Everything is just so big and broad, it's hard to stop thinking about it.
I could sit in front of my open window for an entire day and not run out of things to think about.
I just wish I could figure out why I feel this way. Is it the reminder of grand change that shocks me to the core and propels my deep thoughts? Is it the pure aroma each season brings? Is it the new color scheme? Is it the temperature change?
Is it the hormones talking? Or is it the allergies...
Whatever it is, I think it's safe to say I have Spring Fever.