April: time to pay taxes; hippity-hoppity, Easter’s on its way; and it’s spring.
The first two of these will come and go without her notice, but April has a mind of her own, when it comes to the idea of spring. Actually, April has dreadful manners, a terrible attitude, and throws the occasional hissy fit, just because she’s April.
I get it. April is spring’s first child.
May will come along, the cheerful and pleasant one, filled with big ideas and the potential to fulfill them. June, the baby, will be ebullient, raucous, and loudly colorful. Alas, April, the first born child of spring, behaves like the spoiled child she is. Welcomed with such enthusiasm by those of us bone-tired of winter’s shenanigans, but knowing she is not going to remain the center of our attention for long, she does everything she can to imprint her identity into our minds before we are swept away by May’s sweetness and June’s bombast; mostly, she cries.
It’s hard being April – so much is expected of her and she has only thirty days to do it. She’s the bridge between seasons; the detour we must follow to get around the construction being done to get us from blizzards to shirt-sleeve weather; the not-quite-pretty-enough one we trifle with, while we wait for her more desirable siblings.
It’s no wonder April is mercurial. No one could stand up to her tasks without the occasional outburst. April is doing the very best she can, so we should cut her a little slack when she sleets on our heads or frosts our daffodils. She doesn’t mean to be naughty; she’s just being April.
While we’re at it, we should try hard to cut each other (and ourselves) a little slack when we have a less-than-graceful moment. We’re all doing the best we can, we have a lot on our shoulders, and we just want to be recognized for whom we are, even if we’re April.