To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am happy for Spring and I still do view April as a long-held, much-needed exhalation. However, this year is feeling strange. I'm tired. So, so tired. Not only emotionally but physically.
Maybe it's loneliness. Maybe it's the depression I'm said to be suffering from. Maybe I'm just getting old and need to face up to that.
In any event, it IS the time for new growth. For coaxing peas, lettuce, radishes out of the semi-frozen earth. If I keep working hard enough at it, maybe I'll find sustenance in the sun and air just like my little garden vanguards.