There are two ways to view these late season forays of winter. A person can either despair or hope. When the snow of a long winter melts away, freeing the long buried earth to once again feel the life giving rays of the sun, it is a time of refreshing for hearts wearied by long months trapped between the four walls of a house. As exhilarating as this first taste of spring can be, a renewed burial in snow can cause an equal plummeting in morale.
For some people the later in the year snow falls the more depressing it is. For them snow any time in April is particularly crushing, and every week later in the month is that much worse.
This is my view: Snow in March is very grim indeed. Snow in April is a farce. When the first flakes fall through an April sky I admit my initial response is an unhappy one. But then I have to laugh. The snow won’t be around for long. When snow comes in March there is always the lurking fear of a cold and snowy month. With April the swell of spring is such that the days of any snow are limited. By April the winter has had its hold over our lives long enough. It’s time to throw off the fear of winter and laugh. Snow today? It only makes the lack of snow tomorrow that much more wonderful. Spring is coming; it’s just at our fingertips. It is here.
I buoy myself with these thoughts, but still struggle with frustration. Today I don’t despair that winter might not be over, but I chafe at the inability to work outside. The seasonal change here has a nasty habit of moving from winter to summer in an all too short time. Four weeks between Winter and Summer is not enough time to get all of those before-summer- things done. The yard is a wreck. Everything is a wreck. Every additional snowfall allows precious days to slip by unused.
April is full of ups and downs, but I say it is more up than March. By April the sun is around long enough for the daylight to last an entire day. The crocuses and snowdrops poke through the ground. Water flows. Tree buds swell with new life. The world is moving and in action.
On a good April day I step outside to a world on edge. The sky is a sharp blue and the clouds ragged white. The wind has a cutting bite, but the weak sunlight warms every surface it touches. Though the faded wreckage of winter remains the freshness in the air and sky speaks of spring.
March is savage. April is hope. In early April the eye sees only the faint outlines of what comes in the unfolding life of May and June. April is a time to dream. The world waits; spring, summer, and fall lay out ahead. The ground is frozen here and soggy there, but I stand, look around, and imagine the months to come.