Over the hill, the big 50

50 days left in Scotland. 50 days until I sprint to my family at the airport. 50 days left of frolicking through Seaton Park and walking on cobblestone streets. 50 days until I laugh with Rebecca and give her wedgies (that's what big sisters are for, right?), sing terrible harmonies with my mom to John Mayer's "Say," and woop my dad at Mario Kart. 50 days left of the daffodils and sunsets on the North Sea. 50 days until I pull into the driveway and see my diabetes cat, Freya (named after yours truly). 50 days left in my cozy room filled with two suitcases of adventures and photographs. 50 days until those photographs turn into people that I haven't hugged in months. 50 days left of absorbing everything I can from this life I've lived in Scotland. 50 days until I come home.

A lot can happen in fifty days. And a lot will happen. Every day I wake up from my little bed in my little room in Hector Boece 288 and I look out my window at a big, beautiful tree. I sit next to the radiator (always too close, which gives me a nice healthy burn) and wonder where the months have gone. This morning I looked out my window and instead of the bare, cold winter tree that has been staring at me for months, there's a new tree. Well, the same one. But not at all. It is covered with white flowers, little birds singing beautiful songs, and hints of green sprouting from the ends of the branches. (I think it's telling me that it's Spring.)

Things change. And I've changed, too. But not too much. Some people would call it growing up. But I think mostly, I'm just a little more me. A little more Kelsey Freya Hawkins than when I left. No drastic changes. Just a few more white flowers, a new song, and a hint of green. The song? It goes like this: Little darling, here comes the sun.

50 days. Time to live it up.