Early April and I am reminded how much I hate this month and am perpetually betrayed by it. I grew up thinking April was spring, the colour of easter eggs, tulips and birthday presents. It seems over the years, that April has promised more than it has delivered, to me. Yes, the skies are clear and blue, and the sun it right there, fighting to come up earlier, even with setbacks like the end of daylight savings time. But I look at the ground and wonder if all the bulbs died over winter, until something surprises me. This year I have faithfully tossed lettuce, chard and kale seeds into the ground, in hopes that June vegetables will be forthcoming. This afternoon was the first time that I felt perhaps the warmth and light of the sun has penetrated the field out back, as well as my locked shoulders and taut witholding skin. I got to my knees and looked to the southwest to see the clouds break apart with the promise of sun and a warm breeze to come by the end of this day. I put my arm around my dog and we put our faces into the warm wind as though we could see summer making haste apologetically…
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