Snow in April is abominable,” said Anne. “Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.”
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Ingleside
I wake with a sore throat and a stuffy head. It’s been years since I had a cold and one shows up now when it should be warm and sunny and I should be out in the garden. How insulting.
I had hoped, when I came across it, that I would never have occasion to use the quote but Gerry pulls the curtains in the bedroom and there it is.
”What a lovely sight,” he says wryly. “Snow on the top of the hills.”
I turn my head and, sure enough, a dusting of snow tops the hills across the valley like vanilla frosting on a cupcake. Wrong. It’s just so wrong in mid-April.
I receive a note from someone local who makes reference to our six-month long winter. It’s a bit too close to the truth this year. At least the stuff that’s falling from the sky just now isn’t white. Liquid sunshine: that’s what we called the rain when we lived in the Pacific Northwest where it rained and rained and rained even more.
I make granola and as I stir the toasty fragrant mix that’s still warm from the oven and listen to the rain outside, I can almost believe I’m back in Washington in the middle of the rainy season.
Tired of being indoors I grab my camera and take my barefoot self out in the back yard to see what I can see. It’s cold and wet, but I pull up my hood determined to capture something through the lens of my camera.
And there they are. Lilac buds.
Despite appearances and a head cold, it is spring. In due time the fragrant purple blossoms will burst forth. Soon, the garden will feed us well and days will be long and hot.
This, just a temporary delay of the inevitable. An opportunity to practice patience. A time to walk the talk of living in the simple happy moment. A gift, when looked at that way.
But really. Snow? In April? Oy.