We are fooled by April, coaxed into an optimism about life that is often undeserved. The sudden burst of life pulsing through the roots of our outdoor existence makes us feel like super heroes (or heroines) too when we see the persistence of growth and birth after
winter has tried to kill off the light, and vitality of the garden.
The birds are learning to sing again. Sing early in the glow of an
early waking sun. And we want to sing too. but we need ears to hear this song.
Yes, it is cruel of April that it disappoints us in the end. Like new love we open ourselves up to the possibilities only to be thrust
away after we have sampled the pleasures that cannot sustain us.
Writing Across the Genres 