T.S. Eliot advises us that “April is the cruelest month,” because it mixes “Memory and desire.” True? For me, partly so. My winters have been spent in cold climates, and I love their cold sparkle and indoor coziness. A reader, I revel in the ritual of closing curtains at 5:00 p.m. against the dark, building up the fire, making tea, and opening a good book.
Even now, when my aging bones crave warm sunshine, I turn a regretful eye back on undemanding (with the exception of snow shoveling) winter. Eliot also says April breeds “Lilacs out of the dead land,” and stirs “Dull roots with spring rain.” There is the joy of rebirth, but also the labor of it. The earth wakes up and demands we wake up, too, and tend to our bodies, our psyches, and our gardens. There is always that brief sense of regret for sedentary comforts.
But then, to quote another poet, Wallace Stevens, “The sun, that brave man” comes striding into our lives and winter memories fade. I remember this happening most vividly in Alaska when, after the long, dark, months, I sat at my desk with the April sun warming my back while I closed my eyes. After all, the sun brings sleep deprivation when it’s there all day and night. Our joy in its arrival always mixed with the crankiness of an insomniacs’ exhaustion.
However, that day, the image of myself as a basking turtle slowly morphed into myself bright and alive. I desired to go outside and join all other awakening flora and fauna in being stirred into the green celebration of life.
And here that feeling is again. Welcome, brave man. Welcome, season of growth.