Dreaming of April

I keep thinking up leads for this entry, all of which sound like clichés in my head. “Life’s rich pageant…” “It doesn’t get any better…” “Sucking the marrow out of life is…”

Okay, that last one was more disgusting than corny, but you get the idea.

I went out to the garden at about six this evening into a perfect evening. Just 24 hours before, the wind howled and blew lingering snow around the pasture, but by tonight that was a memory. Blue sky. Mild air. Calm winds. I dug in the garden for a bit, then thought that since the wind was down and the pasture was wet with snowmelt, I should burn my brush pile, so I lit it up.

As it burned, the sun went down, and I tended the fire and threw weeds to the goats. It was absolutely beautiful.

When I was done, I came in to see Abby in her recliner, reading, looking amazingly beautiful. I scooped out a bowl of the 15-bean soup I made this afternoon, and it was perfect. Spring is coming.

Brush burning near my garden in the south pasture
Brush burning near my garden in the south pasture

“Dreaming of April
Praying for her to arrive in all her finery
I’m dreaming of April
Maybe she’ll linger this time
Turning to smile at me
These clouds of grey march in endless procession
I’m waking every day
Dreaming of April…”

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1 Comment

  1. I refuse to read this entry. The only woman you should be dreaming about is Abby. Who the heck is April??

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