I often see omens in the natural world. I don't mean that in the weird ooky-spooky sense, I only mean that when I see a hawk, I like to think it's my grandma saying hi from the world to come. I see a blue butterfly and I wonder where it's headed – if it's on its way to becoming a sign for someone else. I'm sure I've missed or at least misinterpreted many signs from the universe in my life, but things always seem to have worked out anyway.
On a walk today, my last Monday as a high school student, I picked the first dandelion I saw. Feeling childish, I blew its white seeds into the wind, wishing for happiness for me and my classmates. Not all the seeds came out when I blew, and I had to rip them out. It seemed somehow wrong to leave even one tuft on the dandelion. I made sure they all got picked up by the breeze. And not to be over the top with the metaphor or anything, but I guess every graduate is like a dandelion seed. We leave – willingly or unwillingly –and our fates are left up to the four winds. We will float for a while and eventually settle. We will flourish through rain and shine. And in the end, each of us will bloom.
I don't mean to be too cheesy or wax poetic for too long about graduation and change and moving on. I just want to say that I will miss the views from my first room at boarding school. I will miss the way the sunset painted itself onto the wall in the hallway leading to the smallest room on my floor. I will miss the jangling of the beat-up window blinds in the October wind that heralds the winter to come. I will miss Lake Champlain – cold, even on the hottest day and I will miss the trees and the sky and the mosquitoes and the silverfish. I like to think that if I were to come back to school in five or ten years, it would all be there, just the same as if it were waiting for me to return. I know that's not the case. Teachers retire and the sun sets in a different shade of orange every night. I guess the only piece of "wisdom" that I've acquired along the way is this: keep your eyes peeled for omens. And don't forget to stop to blow the dandelions.
Author's Note: This is my goodbye to YWP! I want to thank all of you from the very bottom-most part of my heart for an incredible two years. I deeply appreciate the community I have found here. Thanks to everyone who supported me. I loved having my piece in Anthology 12 and I loved having challenges and contests to enter. Being a part of the Young Writer's Project community has made me a better writer, poet, and reader. I hope to find similar spaces to connect with in the future!
Love,
roxyforthewin
On a walk today, my last Monday as a high school student, I picked the first dandelion I saw. Feeling childish, I blew its white seeds into the wind, wishing for happiness for me and my classmates. Not all the seeds came out when I blew, and I had to rip them out. It seemed somehow wrong to leave even one tuft on the dandelion. I made sure they all got picked up by the breeze. And not to be over the top with the metaphor or anything, but I guess every graduate is like a dandelion seed. We leave – willingly or unwillingly –and our fates are left up to the four winds. We will float for a while and eventually settle. We will flourish through rain and shine. And in the end, each of us will bloom.
I don't mean to be too cheesy or wax poetic for too long about graduation and change and moving on. I just want to say that I will miss the views from my first room at boarding school. I will miss the way the sunset painted itself onto the wall in the hallway leading to the smallest room on my floor. I will miss the jangling of the beat-up window blinds in the October wind that heralds the winter to come. I will miss Lake Champlain – cold, even on the hottest day and I will miss the trees and the sky and the mosquitoes and the silverfish. I like to think that if I were to come back to school in five or ten years, it would all be there, just the same as if it were waiting for me to return. I know that's not the case. Teachers retire and the sun sets in a different shade of orange every night. I guess the only piece of "wisdom" that I've acquired along the way is this: keep your eyes peeled for omens. And don't forget to stop to blow the dandelions.
Author's Note: This is my goodbye to YWP! I want to thank all of you from the very bottom-most part of my heart for an incredible two years. I deeply appreciate the community I have found here. Thanks to everyone who supported me. I loved having my piece in Anthology 12 and I loved having challenges and contests to enter. Being a part of the Young Writer's Project community has made me a better writer, poet, and reader. I hope to find similar spaces to connect with in the future!
Love,
roxyforthewin
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