Spring in the 4th Grade

One day, when I was in fourth grade, I remember getting off the bus a house down from my Mom's on Cedar Lane. It was Spring, probably late March, as it felt warm enough for short sleeves and Easter around the corner.

There's that relief of stepping off the large animal that is the school bus, with it's yellow painted metal and tires so big they will crush you just by getting too close. There's the relief, too, of being free of the judgement and projected fears of youthful peers, that social study that as a human we can never get away from but have no real armor of protection against as a child.

Once the bus pulled away, me alone to make my way one acre in distance, passed the neighbor, Arlene's house, I looked up to the sky. She had a big oak tree with branches that reached the edge of her yard to where I was standing in the partly worn grass and dirt at the side of the road. The sun was a midday sun and it's rays sparkled through the greening leaves of that tree creating snowflake flashes of light into my eyes.

I kept my head up towards the gnarled arms of the canopy of shade and light above me. I walked slowly, taking in the feeling of God that was present to me that day. It was a pocket of space and time that held peace for me, where the anxieties of the full day of being a 9 year old were released. I felt free.

Copyright by Rachel Drews, 2013. All rights reserved. Any excerpts reproduced from this article should include links to the original.