April, Come She Will

I got home from youth group tonight, and it's too late to paint (and subsequently clean up), so I'm posting yet again. And Dad, Eric and Misty, please know that it is your commenting/encouragement/still caring enough to read that has made me want to write again so soon.

I really don't know why "April, Come She Will" is not on Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits album. Along with "The Only Living Boy in New York" it is one of my favorites they did. And I sing that song a lot these days, because I think April in Texas is just about the most perfect time of year.

Nothing can revive my soul like a good rainstorm. April has brought some beauties this year. Not so many as last year, so that bag worms and flooding are issues, but enough to make the world verdant and resplendent; enough to force me inside and get cozy, or wander around in the rain and relish it.

Blossoming life smells amazing. When I drive (yes...physical ailments continue to keep me from biking) past Bear Creek, windows open and wind swirling, I am overwhelmed by the most amazing scent. I can't describe or label it--I don't know the name of the plant that makes the odor, nor do I have some comparison that I could use to conjure up the same smell in your head. It just smells awesome. I feel woefully inarticulate saying that, but it's the truth.

Days of sunshine feel glorious, because they are accompanied by cool breezes and shady, swaying trees. They are what sunshine is meant to feel like. These days hold nothing of the murderous, sweat-springing, life-sapping summers.

And so the mourning in my tune today is not for a fleeting summer that will soon turn cold. If only! No, I weep for the passing of April, and her handmaiden May who will soon join her is the death of the past, only to yield to that oppressive shrew of the south: Summer, who will dwell with us far, far too long.