By Maryn Ascher
Seasons go by, yet I still remember.
Beads of sweat glisten on my forehead on a hot summer day. Months pass and humid weather gently shifts into a slight chill. I watch the leaves turn red, orange, brown, gliding off of the trees. The days get shorter and shorter. Thick patches of bark are covered with fluttery snow. The crisp air dries my throat, my Doc Martens sliding on the slush.
Then it is spring again. The trees regain their leaves, the sun beats upon my bare shoulders, and I remember.
The cycle is continuous. The seasons pass, the weather shifts, as expected. On the way to Romania to pursue my passion for archaeology, the sun beats down on my sunscreen-covered face. I make memories with friends, both new and familiar, as I start another enticing fall semester at college, sporting jeans and a sweater. Minor sorrows and snowfalls pass from beneath the safety of many layers of blankets. Stressing about exams, or a boy; things that just don’t matter.
And then the flowers blossom, my sweaters and jeans turn into flowy skirts and tank tops, and my body feels it again: a low, forlorn tone that I can’t seem to shake off. Years have passed, yet it always returns. It comes in waves, like an ocean pushing and pulling against the beating of my heart. Tides controlled by the moon, or maybe not controlled at all—I don’t really know. Though if I could ask the moon to lessen the tides for me, I don’t think I would.Â
What is the point of life if we cannot allow ourselves to feel?
Therefore spring comes again, and I forever remember.
Maryn Ascher (she/her) ‘26 is a junior studying forensic science and anthropology. She is involved in many orgs on campus including Delta Phi Epsilon, First Year Players, and Jerk Magazine. She has been writing creative pieces for as long as she can remember and is excited for the Honors community to see her work about her personal experiences!
