I have this image of the perfect April day. It’s sunny, with a soft blue sky untouched by clouds, except maybe for a few feathery, atmospheric white vapors. The temperature’s around 72 degrees, but it’s just warm enough to feel comfortable without a jacket, and it’s not humid. There are yellow highlights throughout this image, probably from the daffodils and forsythia in bloom. There’s a snowiness to this day as well, because the pear trees have erupted into blossom up and down the streets. It’s an ethereal, dreamlike day that, at other times of the year, I convince myself I simply made up in my head. It never existed, especially since it’s rare to have pear trees and daffodils and forsythia in bloom at the same time in Southwestern Ohio. Spring is usually more staggered; or else a nasty frost burns this and browns that, or nature explodes to life in March, with April easing in like a self-conscious anticlimax.
And yet — today was one of those ideal, and idyllic, April days. Just perfect, even though my sinuses are still prickling and tingling from all the pollen in the air. An exquisitely crafted day, pure April.
April seems to be feast or famine when it comes to weather. Either we have days like today, or we have sodden gray days of chilly downpours. We’ve experienced those as well lately. Maybe that’s why today was so stunning.
(Despite the old “April showers” saying, I rarely associate April with showers. Showers are gentle. April rains beat you into the ground. Fortunately, when I think “April,” I first picture a yellow and blue day, bedecked in blossoms, like today. I have to remind myself about the dark deluges.)