A Personal Childhood Memory of Spring

Spring, the mere words make me tingle all over with a flood of warmth that leaves you smiling and laughing all at once. As a child was so magical to me and all though I have gotten older the warmth and love that were experienced are still fresh like a fragrant flower in my mind. The fresh new dresses that smell as if they had been dried in the sun and wrapped in a tie of roses, the pungent smell of vinegar to dye your eggs and the spring air sneaking through he open doors and windows in your freshly dusted house.

The memories are as fresh as yesterday, and as beautiful as a spring bride.

The memory vivid and clear is of my s in Marietta, Georgia. The dogwood trees were in full bloom with their flowers shaped like the cross that Jesus died on, the reason we were celebrating , the tulips fresh and sweet on the mind, the roses, queen of flowers, stop you with their fragrance and make you believe for one moment that you are a princess in a white cloud castle.

The day would start off waking up to the smell of fresh bread rising to the occasion in the oven, then the thrill of brightly colored jelly beans being hidden all over the house. It was a tradition, the bunny would come in the middle of the night, hopping about delicately as not to wake my brother and me and spread the magical colored jelly beans about the house.

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My brother and I would race about the house as though we were searching for a million dollars that had been Hidden. Our dog, Ginger, ways managed to find the really tough spots were my brother and I had failed our search and took her share of the magical jellybeans. After the hunt, the aroma of quiche, baked bread, and pastries would lure us the kitchen without a call from my mom or dad just in time for breakfast. We would scarf breakfast so that we could get to make our eggs.

Making the eggs was no small task; they were our creations, a masterpiece created by small hands. We held those eggs like they were glass and painted them as though our lives depended on their perfection. My Dad and Mom would always be called in to view our creations and after we were done it was time to get a shower and put on our new Sunday clothes. My Mom always picked out the perfect dress for me, a light color of pink that had lots of white lace and smelled of her perfume and love. Even as a girl I realized the trouble she went to so that she could find her little girl the perfect dress. My d always pick me up and tell me how beautiful I was, complain that I was getting to big and make a comment that if any boys saw me in my new dress that we would be at my wedding next.

When my brother and I ran the dash back down stairs we knew my Dad had hidden those delicately painted eggs in the crevices of trees and in the tall blades of green grass. When we ran into the yard, with no shoes of course, the grass seemed like an emerald carpet that lightly kissed my feet each time I walked. As I ran about the yard searching so hard for those eggs I would glance back at my Dad and he would always hint to his little girl where the eggs had been secretly placed. When it was all done I would sit in my Dads lap and we would lay back into the sea of green grass and stare at the blue ocean the surrounded us. My blond curls would fall into his face and he would complain but I know that secretly it made him happy.

My s were always magical and when I am in my dorm room lonely and alone, I lay back and imagine being small and in my Dads arms again and the world fades the world away.