That spring weather I raved about last post? Easter finally bringing good weather? Guess not. One day of sun followed by days of drizzle.
On Saturday I woke to sunny skies and promptly nixed my plan to go into town solely on account of the sun. I would wash my hair and lay on the porch as long as a ray remained. That was all I wanted. However, the sun disappeared half way through my shower. The possibility of tears was real. Tears of frustration, that it.
My mother knew me better than I knew myself when she told me I’d never last in Seattle. This sunless existence is driving me crazy.
In reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I stumbled upon an apt quotation:
April is the cruelest month, T. S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises it can’t keep, all passion is really a setup, and we’re doomed to get our hearts broken yet again. I agree, and would further add: Who cares?
Who cares? I care, Barbara. I care.