I’m sure T.S Eliot wasn’t talking about the weather when he said, in his enigmatic opening line of “The Wasteland,” “April is the cruelest month.” Or maybe he was. I’m not sure what spring looks like to the rest of North America right now, but here in Regina, Saskatchewan, it looks like perdition — April is indeed cruel.
Two days ago I was staring out my kitchen window, watching the snow recede, marveling at the prospects of warm weather – skateboards, bicycles, outdoor soccer, not hating life every time I go outside. Then, just when things start to, you know, heat up, spring pulls up her pants and dumps (this on) me.
Spring, you are still so beautiful, and I still want you, but why do you tease me so?