April is like the raggedy, wandering gypsy lad of the fairy tale. When he moves streaks of gold show beneath his torn garments and you suspect that this elfin creature is actually a prince in disguise. April is just that. There are raggedy, cold days, dark black ones, but all through the month for a second, for an hour, or for three days at a stretch you glimpse pure gold. The weeks pass and the rags slip away, a shred at a time. Toward the end of the month his royal highness stands before you.
We seem to shed winter the way the gypsy sheds his rags - a little at a time. We welcome the breeze that blows with spring warmth over bare arms and through the hair. The sunny ground feels good to touch again. Spring stirs and wakens in both spirit and landscape.
--The Shape of a Year