Anticipation

It’s here. 

Without fail, it emerges this time of year.

It flies in with the carpenter bees who resume feasting on my house. It blooms with the front yard azaleas. It creeps up with the rising temperatures. It settles in with the pollen. It builds with the robin crafting its nest. It sneaks in with the eagerness of a squirrel gymnast comically stretching to an almost-in-reach bird feeder. It springs up with spring itself.

It’s here.

The paradoxical rush and delay of anticipation. 

Year after year, whether in elementary school or in my forties, it’s the same sounds, smells, feelings. 

Summertime anticipation even has a flavor. It tastes like cucumbers. 

From my desk, if I listen closely, I can hear the collective buzz of lawn mowers and bees humming to the tune of Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out.” Nature’s electric guitars are warming up.

Like a preheating oven, the sweet smell of sunshine heats everything in its path. Fragrances of warmed asphalt, sunscreened skin, freshly-cut grass, and sweaty soccer-playing kids evoke visions of things to come. 

Things like diving boards and corn hole boards.

Later wake-ups and later sundowns.

Poolside lounge chairs and fireside camp chairs.

Fishing poles and hiking poles.

Ice cream runs and late-night movie marathons.

Bike pedaling and boat paddling.

Camp drop-offs and big kid drop-ins.

Chilled moods and chilled coffee.

Beach vacations and Vacation Bible School. 

Backyard cookouts and front-yard garage sales.

Fourth of July sparklers and sparkling night skies. 

Feelings of nostalgia rise like pizza dough in the window sill. 

Anticipation is the word of the season.

But as I prepare to get my kids off to school 26 more times this semester, another word emerges as well.

Appreciation.

I love summertime and all its glory. But I appreciate spring. The constant change and growth of spring is a reminder to slow down and soak up every moment like my pale skin absorbs those UV rays. 

Because there are far too few years left with my fledglings before they leave the nest. And I know that soon I’ll be reaching and grasping for more time.  

Yep, I guess I can anticipate squirrel gymnastics in my future summer plans.

Copyright © 2025, All rights reserved.