The harshness of winter always made us yearn for softer and longer days, for the serene breeze on our faces, for the faint light on the leaves of the blossoming trees.
My room was shared with my sister and a window separated our beds. The day always started with my mother coming into the room to say good morning, even before the sun woke up. On those days, the pace of my steps was slow, boring, and have already forgotten about the light and mild days of spring.
I remember sweetly the joy awakened in me when the sun came early to light the room, even before my mother's persistent announcement. An invigorating energy, as if my body couldn't contain the happiness and the power, and my feet ran, with an enthusiasm they couldn't keep up with, towards the adventure. Outside, a world of discoveries. The beginning of a new cycle.
I reach out and turn the handle. The door opens. I leave the house and enter the world. The sky is inside me. It's not me anymore, I'm the sky.
I keep this image which, although faded and twisted, is also very vivid in me: a girl, with her hands on the straps of her backpack and her head turned towards the sky. She has her eyes closed (the scent of the warm wind feels better with her eyes closed, it's a feeling she doesn't know yet how to put into words, but it makes her feel happy). At that moment, the horn of the school bus, that is waiting for her, can be heard. The girl opens her eyes and still immersed in the sensations, she sees the swallows. That girl is me.