Occasional Scribbles

breeding Lilacs out of the dead land,

mixing memory and desire,

stirring dull roots with Spring rain….”

And then it snows.

Somehow it’s always a surprise when it snows in April, though it is such a mixed month. We glimpse summer to come, bask in early warm sun which brings us outside after the gloom of winter and then just as we feel we have shrugged off the cold back it comes with a vengeange. Winter is not yet willing to let go.

How cruel is April? In March I saw butterflies out far too early though it was a hot day and my chickens hatched chicks too prematurely to survive. A few days ago, a Mallard brought her newly born ducklings out to our pond, but they too have disappeared and I fear they have perished in the cold. New delicate buds are frozen in a harsh frost and the newly arrived spring birds find frozen water in the bird baths. Bumble Bees have been out already though there cannot be much to entice them yet. Their low hum is music to the ears and a promise of Summer to come. Mice have popped out of their underground nests, tempted out by a teasing sun, to forage hopefuly for food, but they too have frozen before finding their way home. Only the Wood Pecker seems immune to April’s wiles: the constant noise of his pecking against the old Oak tree, calling for a mate, can be heard from early morning till dusk.

“Oh to be in England now that Aprils there”.