Just when it seemed winter would never end, I rediscover the joy of hearing birdsong in the morning. Never one to bound out of bed in a good mood, I nevertheless can manage to smile when I turn off the alarm and hear the birds singing and the doves cooing on the roof.

The wind sweeps the skies a beautiful pastel blue, the clouds roll in, drop a bit of rain, and then the wind scours the sky clean again. The daffodils nod their heads, the hyacinth stand proud, the forsythia shake out their blossoms. The weeping willow leaves unfurl in tiny crescents, white wildflowers dot the lawn, and an azalea in a neighbor’s private garden bursts forth with unexpected color.

The temperatures stretch and dip, sliding up and down the thermometer. The children drop their jackets on the playground even though there’s a chill in the air. We pretend it’s warm even when it’s not. The flowers play along with our charade. The rabbits hop into the scene after dinner, nibbling the fresh green grass, the final touch in the idyllic tableau..

Soon the lawnmowers will whine on Saturdays, and the plowed fields will be striped with new growth. One day we’ll glance up and see the trees veiled in green. It has taken months to get to this moment, but the mystery of April is that it all seems to have happened overnight—a sepia landscape transformed with Technicolor hues.

No wonder Christians celebrate Easter in the spring. It’s a season of miracles, inside and out.

© 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

April 6, 2006