Spring

Take me back to when LMNOP was spelled 'elemenopee" and Dad's stories were funny AND magical.

When my desk was MY desk and our hallway was OUR hallway.

Take me back to extra recesses and kickball tournaments against kids with scraped knees and sassy attitudes.

Remind me what it was like to have the "h" word make me want to cry.

Bring me back to the boy wearing shorts in the snow, the four square cherry bombs, the jump ropes, and the bananas on the swings. Bring me back to the hill where we made up dances and practiced different ones.

Push me on our big swing until the Muddy Monster comes, then you can join me so you can be safe too.

Take me back to when this was my best fantasy: IMAGINE A WORLD MADE COMPLETELY OUT OF OTTER POPS!!!!!!!

Let me re-read all of my misspelled words, my clumsy kindergarten letters.

Take me back to when Randy, Paula, and Simon thought I was the best singer they'd ever heard.

Take me back to strolls in the Virginia forest with Dad, and weekly sessions on a dance floor with mom.

Show me way too many presents under the Christmas Tree, and sketchers sneakers that light up when I'd stomp on the ground as hard as I could.

Take me to back to the days of 'Mr. KaPoosha' and obnoxious laughter.

Play Spring by Vivaldi once more, so we can run around the downstairs family room doing what we know to be dance. Keep playing the song, louder and louder, when LOUD didn't bother our ears.

Please keep playing the song.

Then take me back to when a helicopter was called an 'Ikemum!' Take me back to lilac bushes and being afraid to climb on a roof. Take me back to selling water in our front yard, and the nice lady across the street coming out of her house and buying water from us.

By then Vivaldi will be over. That's okay.

All songs have to end, don't they.