The semester is almost over and I am chafing at the bit, wanting to get out there with my camera and explore again. (Stupid grading.)
The trees continue to green up as the wave of flowers ebbs, and the grass grows thick and long under the afternoon rains. Birds have been making their nests, and the sides and medians of the roads are dotted with the swelling bodies of unlucky young squirrels and raccoons seeking new territories.
Wanderlust is upon me, and I am stuck here with the blue books and the essays. I am feeling irritable and ingrown, pushing against the walls of my responsibilities. I want to shed the semester like a skin rubbed off against rough rocks and damp bark, gliding new and fresh over the muddy ground of spring. If I look hard, I can see potential through the haze of my outgrown self.
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