shades of pink

Oh, spring semester. At the beginning, everything is so promising, yet so cold: the landscape is covered in ice and snow, and the plows come out in pre-dawn to pour salt on the sidewalks. Classrooms are warm respite from the wind, and we sit, well-dressed and awake and ready for the challenges of the next 15 weeks.

And then spring comes, and the ground thaws and even when it rains the world turns to glowing shades of green against the bricks and sky. And we put on our flip-flops and pretend to study outside so that we can smell pollen and wet dirt and get our butts muddy in the grass because really, it's not warm enough to shed our coats.

The end of spring semester is the most frustrating, beautiful time - when all we can do is cram our heads with stuff that we'll forget in the first few weeks of summer, but all we want to do is sleep in the sun.

Lately I've only been working on Zetor (which I've taken to calling Zetorina, with an -ina as a special marker of its pink, frothy nature). It's this time of year that I remember why I love pink. The way it looks in lace, carefully curled up next to my chemistry textbook in my bag, or in sakura branches like fingers reaching up towards the sun. There are only two weeks of school left, and Zetorina is probably 4-5 repeats away from the edging and bind-off.

I'll be sad when it's finished.