Doesn't have to be. It was T. S. Eliot who sounded the alarm: "April is the cruelest month," and he had his reasons--not quite winter and not quite spring. But those of us who live in the cold so look forward to its promise. Eliot's not the last word.
This morning I thought I'd look for proof that we need not heed old Tom. That shot above is Easter morning, 2004, somewhere west of town, a good place to start.
2005, on the way to Broken Kettle.
A whisper of green near Oak Grove, 2006.
Ye olde icon, somewhere west, 2007.
On our clothesline, backyard, 2008.
Big Sioux River, 2009
Read through this last night from Psalm 65:
Even during the cruelest month,
The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
where morning dawns, where evening fades,
you call forth songs of joy.
Somewhere near Canton, 2010.
Rock River flood, Doon, 2011.
Somewhere south in Plymouth County, 2012.
Abandoned farm, Germantown, 2013.
Easter morning, near Hospers, 2014.
Little Sioux River valley, 2015.
Holy Week, Sioux Center, 2016.
Spirit Mound, 2019.
Missouri River, 2018.
Yesterday I walked out around the South Pond, the whole world in the same old persistent tawniness its worn since the snow left. Right now, the world's finery is barely worth a second look.
Eliot had his own reasons for despondency. I'll give him that. But April is resurrection month. There's always room for hope.
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