April is an in-between month tucked in the middle of anticipatory March when the first blush of spring sparks a fever, and May when gardens centres are awash with colour and promise. April is a gray and wet month. It’s a month of fits and starts, of disappointment and melancholy. Now we’re past the halfway
Another gray day with wind and rain. I stay inside, dry and warm, and listen to silence. I brew tea, and read books; wash floors and dust furniture. And talk to the Yorkie now and then. Peace.
It rains. One of those April rains where the sky suddenly grow dark, and the clouds burst forth. Then, the sun peeks her tentative face through the clouds, a rainbow appears in the sky, and, before you know it, it the sky is blue and the rain and the rainbow are fleeting memories. I spot
I sequester myself in the woman cave and write every morning. I’m in the zone, words flow, it’s wonderful. One afternoon we run errands and it’s sunny and warm. We’re on the way to the green grocer and I say that it’s almost time for iced capps. Gerry abruptly turns left into the Tim Hortons
We enjoy vegetable soup for lunch after church, and I lose another game of chess while we eat. I’m determined to crack the code of this game and beat my undefeated-in-this-house husband. I told Makiya that I’ll phone her with the celebratory news when I manage it. ”I won’t believe it’s you on the phone,”
When she arrived, nearly two weeks ago, it was still winter. The melt had just started in earnest, but the backyard—the north-facing yard—was still white. On that first day, I predicted that the snow would all be gone by the time she went home. ”Don’t talk about me going home,” she said. No, I suppose
We’re driving to a favourite park to see what we can see, with our cameras in tow, when Gerry makes an unexpected right turn. I smile, anticipating his destination. Our car makes fresh tracks in the snow as he pulls into the parking lot of the community garden. There’s not much to see, the ground is