The Knowledge of Spring

Spring Fever
n. a feeling of restlessness and excitement felt at the beginning of spring.

A book I bought a couple weeks ago sits on my bookshelf. Vines curl around the cover, designed to look like flowing hair covered in flowers. The silhouette of a woman outlined in foliage sits at the cover’s center. Sometimes, I stare at it, but I know I cannot read it yet; I am already so far gone.

I have been trying to avoid soft happy music, the candle on my nightstand, warmer days that stand out from the rest–things like this will just stoke the fire of longing within. I am already so besotted with the idea of spring, feverish with it even as the days grow cold again and snow threatens the weekend. My dad just finished gathering wood for a fire, yet I cannot stop thinking of sleepy warmth and golden light and endless blue skies.

This weekend I spent embroiled in the 24in48 readathon, wherein you are supposed to read for twenty-four hours out of forty-eight. Thanks to an interview on Saturday and a Sunday spent with an odd 24-hour stomach bug, I only got a little over nine hours in, but in that time, I finished two and a half books. I was quite proud of myself, and it had let me forget my sudden and intense need for spring’s warmth.

But with the end of the readathon came the return to reality. I could not stop myself from daydreaming of an apartment for myself, windows thrown wide to let in the mid-afternoon warmth, my cat curled up on my bed, a multitude of plants and wispy curtains hanging about the room, and, of course, the scent of clean linen hanging in the air from the candle burning on my nightstand. This vision keeps overtaking me when I least expected it, and even though I have tried my best to avoid anything reminding me of spring, I have slowly begun to give in.

Today, I made a Spotify playlist entitled ‘Spring Fever’, full of the easygoing tunes reminiscent of the season, and then stepped outside to inhale the last breaths of warmth left over from the weekend before the cold descends on us once more. Tomorrow, I have errands to run, and it will be cold; I will have to wear my coat again, maybe a scarf, and resign myself to the continued chill of winter.

It is not even February.

Some say the next month will be warmer, others say the opposite. I marked Groundhog Day on my calendar this year–even though I never put much stock in the actual holiday, I secretly hope winter will end early. The Farmer’s Almanac says the weather will be spotty through February, and spring will bring more rain than usual. I don’t care anymore; I would rather have warm spring rain than sleet and snow and endless cold nights.

I have tried to avoid gentle music and warm days, the candle on my nightstand, the book on my shelf covered in vines, but they beckon closer and closer with every day that passes. My heart aches with the want for spring, for summer. I cannot wait for the turning of the seasons any longer. Spring fever has me in its grasp, digging romantic notions into my head.

Everyone always says spring is a time for new beginnings–flowers break through frost, the cold earth warms into muddy puddles, the world comes awake–and I feel that more truly than ever before.

Last spring, I graduated from Belhaven. The year that followed was tumultuous, and that’s the best way of putting it, but I powered through. And though I never thought a year would land me here, I know I don’t have much longer to wait.

Spring is almost upon us, and then the whole world will change.

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