Amsterdam

Summer was my season until I turned twenty-one. The warmth of the sun, the freedom of my daylight hours, and time poorly spent sleeping in. I loved the heat and getting sunburnt, lying still, covered in aloe until I could go around and do it all again. August Baby rules say summer is supreme.

I’ve seen snowfall before, flurries and iron chill. Footprints marking my path in the powdery ground. Leaning over the back of a couch, getting lost in the swirling snowflakes as they find somewhere to stick themselves.

I’ve seen April showers bring a May super bloom, a sea of orange and yellow in middle-of-nowhere California. Sunshine and seventy-five, pollen making my eyes itch and my nose run. It was all worth it for the view.

Autumn had Halloween, and for a long while, that’s all it meant to me. The leaves don’t change much in southern California and the summer heat barely burns off by November. There was no point in having faith in a season I never knew.

Summer was my season until an October afternoon in Amsterdam showed me that magic is real.

There’s that phrase about getting back into a habit, that it’s as easy as riding a bike. I’m not an expert, but when that habit you’re getting back into is riding a bike, Amsterdam might not be the city to try that in. We did it anyway, though. When you’re twenty-one, you feel invincible and nothing is impossible. Even in a place where bikes outnumber people and daylight hours end at four.

It’s okay, it’s a small city, and the streets are spiraled. We’ll have enough time.

The sun shines, but the chill still bites at our cheeks. Golden rays light our way down the cobblestones and over the canals. Conversation is hard traveled over the wind in my hair. We ride together, but our thoughts land on falling yellow leaves instead of each other.

Those

falling

yellow

leaves

were like breadcrumbs to another, brighter dimension. My arrow was flying in one direction and a gust of wind sent it zipping in another. I could watch the leaves pass my eye line in slow motion. Like glitter in a teen movie prom scene. Like snowfall on a cold March day in Mammoth. Like catching flecks of dust in spare spot of sunshine.

Something about it made the smiles of my friends sparkle brighter. Dazzling. The unfortunate start to the weekend was forgotten. For a few hours, the only place that existed was the road in front of us. Our laughter the only sound.

I fall in love fifty times a day, with people and cups of coffee and dogs and sunsets. I believe in things I can’t see. But that October day in Amsterdam showed me with sharp clarity that magic was something I could see. Even if only for a moment, between falling leaves and bike chains and laughter of a weekend gone right.