Thank You Letter: The beginning of spring

Waxing poetic about the season that keeps me sane

Credit: 
Journal File Photo

When I stepped outside on the first official day of spring and felt a beam of sunlight warm my face, I knew things were looking up.

Spring represents rebirth, hope, and love—any first-year English student can tell you that. It’s my favourite season because it’s a swift and much-needed transition away from everything that bogs me down during the academic year. It means the end of school is around the corner, trees are starting to be green again, and jean jackets are back.

It also means the torture of Canadian winter is finally ending.

I was raised in a household where outdoor winter activities weren’t part of our annual traditions. I’ve skied once, hate skating, and have been to only a handful of hockey games. The cold makes me miserable, and I mourn the lack of readily-available fresh fruit.

In short, winter is the worst, and I’m so thankful to spring for kicking it to the curb.

Now that the Spring Equinox has blessed us with sunnier days and refreshing rain, I can finally breathe again.

Everyone around me, whether they’re graduating, going home for the summer, or searching for part-time jobs, has something to look forward to. Gone is the monotony of another winter month spent hopelessly wondering when the snow might melt.

Instead, with the university term ending, change is in the air.

I’m personally thankful to have a summer job to return to in May, a bike waiting for me in my Ottawa garage, and a navy-blue jean jacket draped around my shoulders instead of an ugly, cumbersome coat.

I’m writing this thank you letter from a desk in Stauffer, wearing a t-shirt for what feels like the first time since October, grateful that my tattoos aren’t hidden under sweater sleeves anymore. When I look out the window of the library I can see bright blue skies instead of grey, snow-heavy ones. I might even buy an iced coffee from Starbucks later, knowing my hand won’t go numb from holding the cold drink outside.

I’m writing this thank you letter from a desk in Stauffer, wearing a t-shirt for what feels like the first time since October, grateful that my tattoos aren’t hidden under sweater sleeves anymore.

The spring air is fresh with new growth and possibility, and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for me this season.

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