I was an English major (a long time ago now), and so in April I like to take time to re-read one of the most famous English poems of the 20th century, The Waste Land. I have always loved the opening lines:
APRIL is the cruellest month, breedingWhen T.S. Eliot wrote these words, he had an English spring in mind, not the frigid weather that often descends on us poor northern folk when we're supposed to be enjoying Easter flowers and warm sunshine.
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
This has been the cruelest April in a long time, with bitterly cold winter weather forcing us all to dig out our winter coats again, or to just linger by the fire. Worst of all, it has lasted for a week, and is going to linger on for a few more days yet. The garden will have to wait.