I'm running scared, truth be told. I've been fueled by fear for a good long while. I'm always waiting for a goodbye. April is so aggressive in its beauty. It's overdoing it again, coming at me too hard, like goodbyes you don't want, will never be ready for. I was born in April. I was supposed to be born a month later in May, but Death brought me out early. The hospital called, a Mr. McLaughlin had died. My mother misunderstood or the person on the phone just did it wrong. My mother thought it was her father. She loved him more than anything. Death had taken her uncle but Death doesn't care about specifics and I came early. My grandfather buried his brother after meeting his first granddaughter. There was snow on the road and crocuses in the yard. Easter makes me crazy. Death came around then, too, walked up first to one parent one time and then the other one later on, just when the dogwood was blooming and everyone was dressed up. The cross was full of flowers and my heart full of I don't know what. Too much to stand. I'm afraid of April. I'm always afraid of the goodbyes that might be wearing a mask, making me or a special one die, while it picks up speed as it flies underneath the beautiful redbud and the stained but pure white dogwood.
April is beautiful, no matter what. I can't get enough of the Equinox and what comes after. Also, violets and frogs.