April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers.
We’re sorry to disagree with T.S. Eliot, but a late February snowfall hard on the heels of a brief, but oh-so-welcome, near 60-degree spell that all but melted away the white quilt with us since the holidays is, arguably, tops in meteorological cruelty.
Enough with the snow, sleet and freezing rain. Bring on the crocuses, forsythia and robins. We’ll worry about April in April.