April is the cruellest month, breedingLilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot, "The Wasteland"
We have entered the month of April, which you know.
What you may not know is that April's only purpose in this world (at least for those of us living in decidedly temperate climates) is to trick us into thinking spring has arrived.
Sure, technically, spring has arrived on the calendar, but no self-respecting Northeast Ohioan really believes that.
I'm writing this post on February 24. I have no idea what the weather will be like on April 2, and it almost doesn't matter. Even if it's sunny and warm, it won't last. It will be 70 degrees one day and 35 the next.
That is far worse than a week of mid-January temperatures in the mid-teens. At least in January you know what you're getting and don't expect anything better.
But in April? The crocuses and other signs of emerging life make you think everything is going to be OK very soon. And it is going to be OK.
Just not now. Not this month.
You have to wait for May for "OK." In the meantime, winter's long death rattles continue for the next few weeks. You think you see the finish line, and suddenly it moves 100 yards farther away.
You have hope, then April blithely crushes the part of you that believes summer is right around the corner.
We're not finished yet. Not by a long shot.
It was the character Red from "The Shawshank Redemption" who said it best: "Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane."
Indeed it can, Red, indeed it can.
