THE APRIL MOMENT 



The windflower meets the breeze, a slim 

 princess, incredibly fragile, yet broken less 

 easily than the strong tulip, vaguely 

 touched with rose or white as bloodroot. 

 Tulips dwell not only on the ground; they 

 have parted great, opaque petals at the 

 tops of trees, startling to see in the leaf- 

 less wood. Watercress glitters in the cold 

 streams where trout, winter-weary, are on 

 patrol for those flies now magnificent in 

 their jeweled dress of spring. The first oak 

 leaves are delicately crimson at the end 

 of the bough. Disregard, amid this pag- 

 eantry of la vita nuova, the outrageous 

 satire of brown skeleton "fingers" that 

 point stiffly up through the shining blades 

 of grass. If they seem to be a chilling 

 cynicism of Nature, who has not found an 

 April dandelion telling a braver story 

 through winter snow? 



Cedar and balsam twig are golden- 

 tipped. Nothing is unchanged. Immor- 

 tal wings that beat through February 

 gales to reach this land of their tradition 

 are fluttering now about the building of 

 the nest. The smooth chimney swift 

 flashes above the barn and is gone. With 

 drooping wings he hangs poised against 



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