Spring is approaching. All the evidence is in the air, which is pleasantly warm and filled with birdsong. An occasional icy breeze seems only to shake the trees awake from their wintry slumber. Snow upon the mountains signals a surrender of the season, a white banner across the skyline that contrasts sharply with the new blades of grass.
Time hastens on and I find it is but a month until my commencement from this university. I am anxious and eager to begin a new life, though I fear I will someday long for these days which do not seem to pass by quickly enough. I do not yet know where I will go or what I will do when they are ended. I wish to return to my native country, but I do not want to live out my days there. Many parts of the world remain to me unexplored, and perhaps I will enter into it and find my fortune.
I do not think I have a career in literature.
