For it is only spring, the time I remember how to be alive or at least am allowed to daydream about it. And maybe, if the sun is kind and the wind is gentle, I’ll meet myself again, the girl with the braids, the girl who ran, the girl who bled and laughed…
Author: Ieva Balčiūnaitė
The laments of Spring
Scrape your knee, it is only skin. No more, no less. Although it hurts, my child, you will remember it because of me. Or won’t.
My bloom and mossy wind, the sunny days of our innocence… I was with you ever since you chose me as your solace. In the trees and an old breeze, I look at you. Gee, how much you’ve changed ever since then… My winds have said you’re all the same. What a relief it was to hear that your eyes are still shining, still blinging like earthy springs, cheeks still burning red when the breeze caresses you. Just like when you were 5… And now, you’re all grown up, 16 years old, no? I’m sorry if I have ever gotten close to freezing you into an icicle- it’s just that I have to deal with the aftermath of Winter’s Wonderland. I promise- I’ll warm you up soon. I hope.
Because in the moments of when I finally tamed the sun and gave all of its glamour to you, I can still picture how it all happened- your messy brown braids, the dull leaves over them… A little girl that you were, and still are to me- such a lively soul with the widest smile. Maybe you have been my sunshine all along, yet someone I couldn’t tame.
Maybe those moments in your backyard have now become my signature, my eternal lament. The tranquility I created just to watch you grow, just to make every single thing perfect for you… I have never felt such joy with anything or anyone. That’s why all you’ll remember of me is the sun, the sakuras in your garden blooming, leaving an unforgettable scent as my trace… That’s why I transform every year into summer, because you are my reason to do so. Even if it is bitter.
But as there is an after you, there has always been a before you. Because your entire timeline unravels in front of me, in my hands ever since the noon I let it all happen. Or at least I thought so.
That day, when our paths crossed, I was busy with awakening the grass, making sure all of her stems were of equal size and beauty. I was lecturing the mother to discipline her children more, as well as being forced to tell her buds to stop being so picky when to grow or not to. Every year this event tests all the bits of my patience, yet it always unfolds the same. After all, being the guardian of all living, all of their metamorphoses from death to life is not the easiest of jobs to do. Yet amidst this boring motion of events, something was different. Quite literally out of nowhere, some grass buds jumped from their places, gave me some nasty grins and decided to run away. They thought that my lecturing was pointless, that their playing is more important than all of my complaining (What complaining?!). I told them to stop, but as any youthlings, they disobeyed me and ran away anyway. So I had no other choice but to chase them. I ran through so many lands, so many places that by the time I finally reached them, they have already settled in your garden, playing hide and seek. As soon as those rascals saw me, they tried to run again, but I only hugged them and said I was glad those little green rebels found their place.
As I reunited with my loveliest of greens, I saw you.
It was a bright morning, with puddles and wet patches from the night before. (I had to take care of plants, to feed and nurture their fragile beginnings, just like yours.) Maybe it was a coincidence or even fate itself, but I couldn’t help myself from spectating all that you do: the way you run around your backyard, talking to the birds, asking how many skies they’ve seen… The way you shout at your brother to stop being a bastard and become a new age architect in the sandbox, building entire empires that even current and past kings would be jealous of, even if it won’t last. The way you then call for your mother to come and see it, while she hugs you with her dirty hands from gardening, engraving her love onto you… while I’m just sobbing through all of the mightiest winds, as I’m not the one to care for you…
Your mother’s all busy, no? She’s not here, no? How exciting… What an opportunity, no? I have an idea for the best play of your life… If it all goes according to plan.
So I pull all of my wildest tricks and whisper a single word to your brother’s ear able to start a war. He starts calling you names, until you can’t bear it anymore. So you start a fist fight. You both punch each other, pulling on hair, until you start to lose. Not a single move in your arsenal can defeat a deity…You run away from him, laughing, climbing on the highest garden rock. I guess in that moment you thought to be unstoppable, as if you have safely reached an undefeatable castle. But again, your “loser” brother is not such a loser as you thought he was- he now became a dragon, burning away the rock in his path. With all my might, I try to push you off of a rock. You stay exactly there, asserting your position. This push-and-pull roundabout goes for a while, until you fall on the grub pavement. Your knee starts to bleed. A bright red dot appears one after another, turning into a single droplet of blood.
What have I done? Wasn’t I supposed to care for you? What have I done? How did this play turn to whatever this is?
3..2..1…
3..2..1…
3..2..1…
This moment has become an eternity. And yet…
Off you go, running to your mom, crying and wailing, saying your one big buffoon of a brother pushed you. Your voice crumbles, as you explain that you were greatly injured because of it. Yet I was injured even more because of my own actions. I vexed myself forever.
Although she will comfort you, hug you, scolding your brother, taking both of you home, I will be marked by shame. Although you’ll enter your house, throw your muddy shoes away in a corner, and run to your room, waiting for your mother to come, I won’t be aside you. And she comes. And I leave. Her gaze is warm, as her hands bandage your frail skin… Mine is empty and distant. After that, you’ll go downstairs and eat some supper, all of your favourites- sauerkraut soup and meatballs… And I’ll return back to my duties.
And yet… One day I’ll wake up and realise that… that I will always know it differently. An eerie realisation that this had never happened, for this springful ache is just… just another product of your imagination.
***
Nowadays there is that smell in the air that only reveals itself in spring. It is hard to describe in any human words- only in feelings… the true poetry of a soul. This subtle lingering of moist moss, mud, yet sweet blossoms, reminds me of the one time to be alive in the only way I can, even when the world around me is slowly destroying itself. One last time before my childish ignorance is taken away by time. One last time before it’s all gone.
It latches onto everything- the trees, the bumpy old roads, the sizzling of wires up above, the rigid school walls… This mystical season feels like a fever dream, like a memory of a life I had before, but never lived. Everything is more heightened, more beautiful, just more. I hope everyone is happier now, just like I am. Maybe it’s my age speaking, but the significant insignificance of our humanity, our fragility that we romanticise is the true reason spring is a feeling and not just another time. It gives me wings to be, to mold myself into someone new. Even if I’m crumbling on a shattered rock in space. Again and again I fall in love with anything ephemeral. Even if it won’t last. Even if it’s foolish.
Like spring. What a season…
Its presence of an unexpected arrival, a rebirth of nature and people alongside excites me… Soothes my mind, you know. Better than any humanly pleasure, better than anything human to be honest... because this is the only season that doesn’t make me rip my guts out. Maybe it’s a drag path of all I have had, and it’s making me crazy- maybe this green sorcery of the tree leaves’ buds is trying to fill in the void I’ve always had. I wish I’d knew so that then I…
I’d make it count, I guess. While it still matters, where my mistakes can still be undone, I’ll try to be. I’ll try to not rip myself apart and tear my shreds to dust. I’ll try to be a kid again, even if I am crazy. Even if I’m “supposed” to act “my age“. I’ll braid my hair in pigtails, even though my hair’s too short, pin them with the most colourful ribbons, even if the colour’s off, and run for my home until my last breath leaves my lungs, even if it hurts. I’ll take my lost keys out of my empty pockets and open up the rusty door of a place where I used to live long time ago. I’ll throw my muddy sneakers in the corner, alongside my socks, and run barefoot to the garden. I’ll run through the sakuras’, visit my mom’s abandoned vegetable garden, then climb on the highest of rocks and… I’ll scrape my knee. Just to feel something more than chaos, more than a mind on the verge of annihilation… For it is only skin, which will toughen up with time anyway. Even if I never asked for it. For it is only spring, the time I remember how to be alive or at least am allowed to daydream about it. And maybe, if the sun is kind and the wind is gentle, I’ll meet myself again, the girl with the braids, the girl who ran, the girl who bled and laughed… some sunny day. In a childhood I never had. Or always, I won’t know.
For these thoughts never even entered my mind- it is just a product of your imagination. Over and over again. And you’ll realise that all you’ve ever wanted and wasted was never lived up to, even in fiction. All up until it’s summer.
Cover image by: armennano from Pixabay
Edited by: Lina Welin; Johanna Larsson Krausová
