The city around me has started to bloom and push forward, and the contours of the streets and boundaries are obscured and changed into something else by the lively growth of greens and all shades of red. The dirt of Bellevue and her Kentucky inhabitants is now overwhelmed by the acres of luscious grass and full, robust trees. Winter in Cincinnati bears no resemblance to the Cincinnati spring offers to me; once cold months have loosened their grip on the city it becomes all too familiar; the new scenery that greets me, the smell of damp life and sweet grass, as well as the well-known musty scent of concrete walls cooling down after hours of baking in the sun transform this city into an old friend, a well-worn sweater, an inviting, comfortable, familiar place that can truly be called home. The humidity is so thick that I could slice through it and serve it on a platter, and my pores have swelled with a heat rash that covers my body. Though my unsettled skin has yet to adjust to the change, my mind and spirit is relieved and overjoyed. I am a child of the sun and of the moist grass beneath it, my shoulders and feet are meant to be bare and littered with the sparse, salty scent of sweat. I feel most comfortable sprawled out in the back yard of a stranger.