I went for a quick walk this early evening, a respite between a hectic day at school and a busy planning meeting tonight. It's one of those gorgeous spring Seattle evenings when it really, in fact, could be summer. I'm wearing sandals and rolled up jeans (always a tell-tale sign). Birds sing. The sun shines and the view over Puget Sound is finally clear. It almost smells like summer. Is it really only spring?
But rather than siding with the empirical knowledge that tells me what season it is--trees are still budding, flowers haven't yet completely bloomed, I have to go back to school again tomorrow--I'm going to go with the poetic. Because we haven't yet passed into summer, I'm still filled with the anticipation of it. Dreams yet to be fleshed out loom large in my imagination. What will I see in my travels? Who will I meet? What will I smell? What new foods will I discover? What stories will I carry home with me, that will cling close?
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