1
John 3:11,18
"The
message you heard from the very beginning is this: we must love one
another....My children, our love should not be just words and talk; it must be
true love, which shows itself in action."
April
is action. People wake up, bears begin to roam to neighborhood garbage
pails. Blooming trees signal the arrival
of Magnolia and Dogwood shad. The nets are set just off the sea lane on the
Hudson River. The tides have mostly carried away winter flotsam.
Good
Friday, Easter, Passover. Endings. Beginnings. The first sound of leaf blowers
and lawnmowers. Friends of the Library announce trips to public gardens,
lunches. One hot day a cicada can be heard. Seems everyone and every thing is
busy.
One
has to be committed to April.
After
a few tantalizing summer-like days in March, April is not only bone dry, but
chilly. Close to freezing at night. A cheat for the plants trying to awake. Day
by day the Hostas furtively push out spikes. Ferns Struggle to unwind. Only the
Lenten Rose has in inhospitable conditions bravely bloomed their purple and
white glory.
April
23 We find ourselves marveling at fleeting time as we all must eventually do.
Happier to do so on this our son's 34th birthday. We remember his first
attempts at describing his world. See! He throws his arms out and lies back
against the pillowy Boxwoods. See, the blooshers! Our granddaughter's first sentence
was, Daddy! The leaves falling! They were born, it seems, with a commitment to
life and life's wonders.
April
25 The Wisteria has graced us with its spectacular amethyst dangle earrings.
The Dogwoods, white and pink have made a run for glory at last. The ancient
pink has held on for yet another spectacular act. We hold our breath in March
to see if her last act has come. Applause when once again, for perhaps the 60th
time, the curtain opens and out steps the grande dame once again in the splendor of advanced but
victorious old age.
April
in Paris. 1985 . Just my husband and
I. Glorious inspiration of troubadours
ancient and modern. Long walks among expertly pruned Chestnut trees leafing out
in their allées above masses of tulips in the Tuileries. The happy trip in
2004. We flew our son there to be with
us. It was so amusing to see his surprise at how well I spoke French. He took
four years of French at the high school where I taught. I made sure not to
teach his class. I knew you spoke French, but not that good! April in Paris.
I
was never in Paris in April with anyone I was in love with as a young woman
going to school there. I wasn't all that comfortable alone with myself back
then. I suffered a bit le mal du pays. No matter. I walked there happily decades
later in summer with the man I am married to now some 40 years. Commitment is a
good thing.
The
fountain we made from a Pennsylvania Dutch copper boiling kettle is cleaned and filled with fresh water now
babbling away. A small brown bird takes a drink then flies as if to rest on our
deck railing. It makes numerous trips, preening each time on the railing
unconcerned by me watching its ablutions a foot away.
Great
hawks are riding April's breeze today overhead. The smart and mighty crows are
ganging up on the hawk with loud barks no doubt in protection of their young. A
doe feeds beside this year's fawn in a thicket not 200 yards from where I
stand.
All
of this is treasure within sight on my acre. I am committed to April.
The
Sunday School lesson this week is about Commitment.
The
Bible passage reminds me of a wider commitment. I am rich here on my acre. I
must do more than talk about love. I must renew commitments I've made to Save
Our Sisters, Polaris, the Food Bank, my church mission, to family and friends
in need.
Renewal. Growth. Commitment to the Light in
Whom there is no darkness. The power of Jesus whom God raised from death. It is
April's song.