April used to be such a happy month for me. It was full of the delight of the first warm spring days, the beauty of yellow daffodils, celebrations of my birthday and the looking forward to my dad and mom and grandma’s birthdays in May. April was the turning point from the drudgery and dreariness of Winter, into the life-filled lush smelling rains of summers promise.

Now, March moves into April with a sense of dread.
The early April reminds me of my dad’s untimely death, and now added is the suicide of a close friend, and the terrible attack on the Boston Marathon which resulted in at least three deaths and hundreds maimed and wounded.

April should not be a sad month, but today the lively singing of the birds outside my window does not cheer me up.
It becomes simply a reminder of how quickly time passes.
Yet another spring has fallen on my doorstep, another year disappeared into the infinite.