Beacons of red smile at the ground, as though the clouds reached down to their bathroom vanities on Earth and added a touch of rouge to their cheeks before a night out. Intricate branches, hands reaching out to bring the shade to Miamians below. The Royal Poinciana tree lines suburban streets and old, historic South Florida highways, symbolizing passion, energy, transformation and change. Returning once more to greet the Class of 2025 this summer, the trees thank them for their years of schooling, with leaves to match the red “2ENIOR5” shirts and an energy to match the ambition bubbling from these seniors’ futures ahead.
My little brother was born on June 17, 2009. Every year since then, without fail, it is an unspoken family tradition to point out the red Poincianas when they bloom, noting Simon’s birthday is approaching. It is my mom’s marker for the beginning of life, a symbol that has now transformed to embrace my senior color and the last time I will watch a spring-to-summer season as a teenager in Miami. The bright red is a welcoming symbol of the summer — I would be lying if I said seeing the majestic trees on my drives around Pinecrest and Palmetto Bay did not give me a rush of serotonin. The comforting colors are the staple indicator of a Miami summer rolling in: the shade and the light shift, the sun becomes all the more radiant. There is no need to mention the muggy, hot days spent on the beach, by the pool or just cooling down inside, thanking the electricity gods for air conditioning.
The aforementioned nostalgic feelings of a staple Miami summer are far too familiar to a ruminating worrywart like me, moving on to the next stage of her life: the transitions framework is a bridge difficult for a nostalgic yearner to cross. I am no exception. I am far too used to seeing the Poincianas each spring into summer, given the extreme privilege of living within the same one-mile radius my entire life. My elementary, middle and high schools have always been within walking distance of my house, one block away from each other. This is not a privilege most can call their own, one that has brought me a social life largely comprised of the same 200 kids each year.
As the countdown to May 27 winds down, the thought of this year’s Poinciana season being my last as a Palmetto kid does bring bittersweet feelings to mind. Do not get me wrong: I know I will return home after two semesters in upstate New York and once again have the Poincianas and warm weather to greet me, helping me defrost. For now, as we put our senior shirts on for the last time on our last day of school, to match the red trees that give us shade, consider the seasons these trees go through as well, reaching new chapters of their natural lives each summer.
