“It’s coming,” I mention to my BFF Aila. A bird observes from the roof of my house as I wait for the signal. Drops of water begin to hit my head until finally, Aila makes the signal. “Now!” she shrieks. For the billionth time, we sprint right above the sprinkler, our clothes soggy and sticky, our feet brown and cold. When our shivering finally became too much, we flopped side by side on the spiky grass; our chests rapidly going up and the down with the beating of our hearts louder than the birds above us. The sun heard its queue as its rays warmed up on our cold dripping bodies.
“I don’t want to change when I’m older,” Aila spoke still staring at the sky, “I love who I am right now.” I thought about my future:  a snobby teenager, a lazy person, no room for creativity.
“Me too,” I respond, wishing there was a shooting star somewhere in the clear bright sky.
Summer.
I hear my dad pull up into the driveway from a trip to Menards. A signal for yard work day. My brother and I helped dig holes for the three little trees waiting for a home as my dad and his friends begin to force wooden bars to the ground. My backyard is no longer a chair and a barbecue grill. It’s a backyard with three tiny trees and four long support beams.
Another day comes and the cold creeps in. Before going outside, I look through my window looking at the beautiful leaves dressing up in red, orange, and yellow.
Fall.
I bring out my fuzzy sweater and head to my backyard. By then, the pergola was finished. The nails were holding the wooden planks together and the brown paint was on to protect the wood from battles with the elements of nature. Two of my friends arrive, just in time for pumpkin carving. After we carefully cut the stem, we began yanking the guts until it was tidy and spacious inside. We put the light in our scary-yet-cute pumpkins and apple bobbed until the apples felt pimply with scary teeth prints. The doorbell rings. “Trick-or-Treat,” they greeted with their bags raised open and high.
“Ready?” I mumble behind my thick, cozy scarf. My brother was yanking his boots under his black snow pants to make sure no warmth escapes his body. He puts his knitted hat on and waves his two big gloves towards the door.
“After you,” he announces. I slide the door revealing the glistening blanket of white snow and I froze hesitating to disrupt its beauty, even though the snow was calling us to mess it up.
Winter.
I charge right into the cold face planting on a comfy pillow of fluffy snow. I flop onto to my back, sticking my tongue out to catch snowflakes swiftly falling from the sky. As I wave my arms and legs to make a snow angel, a ball comes hurdling at my face. I instantly sit up pushing the snow off my reddened cheeks. “Oh, it’s on!” I declare, carefully coming to my feet since my snow angel was perfect and I didn’t want to mess it up. Just before my brother runs for shelter, I scoop a handle of snow and chuck it right at his back; the ball misses by centimeters. I grab another handful of snow and chase after him with my heavy boots and snow pants.
I wake up to notice darkness behind my curtains. When I peeked outside the backyard door, I saw rain clouds surround the sky and drops of water begin to sting my skin.
Spring.
I check through the backyard window, each tree starving for water thanking mother nature she heard their plea. Instead of staying inside and watching the rain trickle down the window, I dash upstairs to chat with my friends and paint my nails, ready to blast music in my room.
Every time I step into my backyard, I remember who I was. Our trees growing higher than our house, our little grave where our fish Vixen lays, the spot on the pergola where my new dog likes to sit, the grass near the hose where I caught frogs, the fence where I jumped over to get my volleyball. Yes, I did change, my appearance and my personality. But my heart will always be the same girl in the Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring.