Spring is upon us with startling suddenness this year; it will be, they tell us, 88° tomorrow. All over the city the daffodils and Callery pears are in bloom, and the pretty girls have shed their scarves and boots for skirts and sandals.
For the first time I think Eliot may have been right about April. I’ll be 54 a week from today, and as I watch the living world spring joyously back to life once again, I can’t help feeling that this time it’s running ahead of me, looking back and laughing.
It won’t look back for long, of course. Why would it?
One Comment
Don’t worry overmuch that the time seems to be running ahead of you. I myself just turned that “magic 54” and thought it was too.
Then I happened to find myself downwind of a very short skirted barefoot lass.
I find I still like March winds. April’s aren’t bad either. Happy Birthday.