Wellesley laughter spills into the muggy late-summer night. A sustainability-bin fan buzzing while August crickets chirp. We never identified when they sing their last song. It was ever so loud, then pure silence by snowfall.
It’s 2017. Cazenove Hall. Top floor. The turret rooms. Our blocking group hit the housing lottery. This enclave becomes our senior year reprieve.
Under the twinkle of Christmas string lights serving their last tour of duty in our freshly decorated dorms, the noise of youth seeping underneath the doors. It’s also our last tour.
Remix (do we still go?!). Finally, all 300-levels, no more grade deflation (you youngins wouldn’t know). Anticipation. Excitement. Fear. What comes after this territory we just conquered, near?
Now, 7 years out, the world isn’t scary. It’s ours to rule.
Yet I am ever so nostalgic for those August nights in amber memory when the crickets sang and the noise of youth felt like it’d last forever.
Nat's Corner 