Love Letter to Vermont

College has a way of blurring time together. I’ve been finding my memories of my time here are starting to blur together like ink on a water-stained page. It’s been 2 years. 8 seasons in this mystically place that I’m not quiet sure I could ever fully capture the beauty of. Like Thoreau and Cape Cod, I have found my own solace in a place so unique its hard to capture.


Contrary to popular belief, the northern states do in fact get hot. In mid-July, I baked into the cloth sofa in a friend’s apartment. Every window was open, but the air was stagnant and humid in the way that makes even the feeling of clothes touching your skin unbearable.

A party ensued, cups overflowing with icy drinks. The body heat was stifling but somehow the event was enjoyable. I woke up the next morning at 6am on the same scratchy couch and watched the rain pour and push away the humidity of the previous day.


In fall, the mornings get cooler, and the air feels different. Lighter. There is the omnipresence of winter, looming, just waiting, but for now everything is beautiful.

The hills light up like wildfire. There is a certain time of late afternoon when the sun illuminates the mountains. Each leaf looks like a small flame, embracing each branch until its time to pull away.


Cold thin air, and the smell of pine is winter. Thick blankets cover the landscape in a way that looks straight out of a snowglobe.

Sidewalks are slick, and there is no better feeling than retreating to a warm classroom after trudging through ankle deep snow. The days are short, and the promise of soon being reuinted with family makes the finals struggle worth it.


Awakening. The hills and trees and ground are reborn in a show of greens, yellows and blues. The sun thaws the frozen ground and feet sqelch through unseen puddles. The beach is beconing, though still not open for the year.

Shorts and t-shirts are removed from their hiding places in the back of closets and windows and sun roofs are open letting in warmth.


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