Spring Sprang. 
I love the Spring. The buds, the tiny leaves, the smell in the air. It’s kind of a fragile, tremulous season with an electrical undercurrent.
Every year, since I reached a certain age, I feel as though I miss it. I’m too busy with working, or taking care of the house or crap that I blink, it’s started and then blink it’s over.
Oh, I know that’s exaggeration. Of course I don’t miss every single day, of course I get a handful of days to spend outside. That doesn’t matter, my brain is telling me I missed it, and it’s right. Essentially, I did.
So, there is one thing, one of many things, (but the one I want right now) I want before I die. Before I’m “too old”.
I want one more Spring. One Spring where I can roll around in the dirt and make mud pies, sit and watch a flower open, listen to the birds start their operas, get covered in bug bites and burn the back of my neck in the sun.
I don’t want to be a kid again.
I just want that one last Spring.