Early April, and we’re still flirting with snow. A couple of days ago, we had two brief hailstorms, the latter of which turned the ground white and bowed some daffodils to the ground, while others, in their white shoes and yellow shawls, stood tall and seemed ready to march up the hill. How strange that would have been. But they stayed where they were, encouraging the others to stand. . […]
A cold, wet spring. Tulips several weeks behind. Are they snowflakes or cherry blossoms? I’ll let the robins decide. . [ 1705 ]
A couple of mornings ago I dug up the garden space. It’s been a very cool, wet April, one of about half a dozen of the coolest and wettest on record. The soil is in wonderful condition, a joyful fact confirmed by an abundance of fat, healthy worms. With luck, despite a continued chance of rain in the forecast, we’ll be able to plant a few things this week or […]
Thirty-seven degrees. A snow sky. Vegetable plants in the garden shops. The heart leaps, a bird peeps, returns to its fir needle bed. I wish I had written that. And the life that led to it? Do you wish you had lived that as well? A fondness for quoting Jesus — but crucifixion is something else. A crown of thorns. Nails through the palms. Snow in April? Isn’t that unusual? […]
Which should I believe? Which should I trust? Earth’s April, or the April in my mind? The many Aprils, the Aprils of loss, the Aprils of discovery, the Aprils of love? None? Both? All? The Aprils of the foolishest of the most foolish of fools? The April of fine calendars, of which my mother has no need, and knows nothing about? March 11, 2020 [ 691 ]
William Michaelian 