The Day Before April

            We’re heading for the day before April, a day I pause to reflect, much like the day before the new year. It’s a day to say goodbye to the winter past. (How snowy the days, how warm the fireplace, how tasty the stews brought to us by a friend who says, “I can’t learn to cook for two.”) On the day before April, I also think of the future, for April is a time of dreams and hope and renewal, a month full of promise. The yard outside my office window changes color. Trees gradually flow from brown to green; pastel flowers open overnight.

The day before April is a day of anticipation, the most marvelous feeling of excitement ahead when I can do anything.


The Day Before April

The day before April

Alone, alone,

I walked in the woods

And I sat on a stone.


I sat on a broad stone

And sang to the birds.

The tune was God’s making

But I made the words.

–by Mary Carolyn Davies

I first learned of this poem through fabulous writer Claudia Mills’ blog, “An Hour a Day.” I’m sure my friend will tell the story of the Mills’ family holiday on her blog on March 31. Be sure to look for it:

One comment on “The Day Before April
  1. Summer says:

    For me it is spring when my daffodils come up, the ones my husband and girls planted for me, because they are my favorite. This year they’ve come up without me, seen by our neighbors, but not by me. Perhaps, the ‘For Sale’ sign made note of them. Perhaps the moles ate them up before they bloomed.
    Your essay, Veda, the one in the Cloud, made Missouri bloom in my mind. In my mind it has all the splendors of the years I lived there. In my mind, the swirling pollen has no effect to knock me flat with the lightest touch of breeze. The heady smell of the Honey Suckle has only the remembered sweetness of childhood, and bees have no sting.
    Remembering has not turned to missing yet.