Snowdrops

I have an early memory of the first smell of spring.  I must have recently walked out of Winn Brook School, because I could see Joey’s Park in front of me, and I had just stepped off the asphalt onto the damp field.  This precise spring smell was familiar, and I was proud to have such a memory from a whole year ago.  Did I actually stop in that damp brown grass to contemplate the smell?  Did the sun actually feel warmer in that moment, as if a cloud had passed?  I’ve noticed that smell on several springs since then.  I’m afraid I might miss it this year.  Today, I saw my first green sprouts of the year, right after my aunt texted me a picture of her snowdrop flowers. I looked expectantly at each plot of dirt I passed after that, but so far only one more sprout. So, suddenly, I decided I’ll stop searching for smells and snowdrops this spring.  Like you, I’m scared in a different way now. 

It has been five minutes. Thank you ever so bever so much.