Tuesday, April 23, 2013

{ a letter to April }

Oh, April: You always enchant me. I'd like to think it's not just because you're my birthday month. Though I'm sure the presence of gifts around April 18 does enhance your allure.

You are so full of promise. You come bearing a little more sunshine, a little less rain, temperatures a few degrees higher than your predecessor, March. Sure, stiff breezes may skip through those sunny days; these golden sun-filled hours may be chillier than I expect; but I smell spring on your breezes. Cherry and apple trees literally burst into blossom, spilling their delicate, breathtaking extravagance into the air and onto the ground. You may not be full-blown spring here in the Pacific Northwest, but you bear the promise. You bring the first glorious lungfuls of fresh grass...rain-splattered warm air...cherry blossoms...apple blossoms...daffodils and tulips and that indescribable scent that whispers Spring is coming!

With your advent comes longer days. Oh sweet bliss of springtime sunsets, of waking with the sun instead of hours before its arrival. This, of course, also means that it's broad daylight when it's time for Lainie to go to bed. Which in turn means that her nursery is now decorated with the most unfashionable dark brown blanket clothespinned to the curtain rod. If anyone reading knows where I can find blackout curtains that aren't hideously ugly and prohibitively expensive, please do share. The fact that I prefer a fuzzy brown blanket over her window to the blackout drapes I've found speaks volumes to how ugly and expensive they are!

You also bring with you asparagus, and strawberries that don't cost a small fortune, and make me want to wear dresses and gallivant about with a crown of flowers in my hair. {The dresses bit the world can handle, the flower crown I think not so much.} Lainie and I have gone to the beach a couple of times in the past week, and if you continue to provide such lovely weather, I hope to haul us down there every day that I possibly can. Probably not on grocery day, because that task pretty much uses up all my schlepping abilities by itself.

Birthday cards are still rimming countertops. Gerber daisies are still perking up the dining table. Windows are opened as frequently as possible to let the fresh air come in and play. Oh April, you are good to us. I'm going to miss you, come May.

1 comment:

  1. I read this post left me feeling all nostalgic, as if it was one of those back and forth letters from many years ago. I remember being so enchanted by how the words spilled onto paper for you. I still am friend. xo Love you + April, so much! xo