The inch or so of heavy, wet snow that fell overnight brings back (not so fond) memories of the April 1, 1997 snowstorm, when several feet of snow were dumped on New England. Okay, there really is no comparison, but this frail forsythia coated with cold gives a pretty strong impression that winter is not done with us quite yet.
More fiber arrived this week, and I love the colorway. Unfortunately, at the rate I'm going, I won't be spinning it until this summer.
Snow in April
If you must slight me, let it be the touch
That snow in April, falling soft and white
Gives to the blossoms delicate and light,
So I don’t suffer, it won’t harm me much.
If you must spite me, let it be as quick
As snow in April falling, not to last.
Lies just one moment then, like mist is past,
So it won’t sting me; I won’t feel the prick.
If you must fight me, let the tender blows
Like snow in April, make no lasting mark
As soft, spring sunshine, on the grassy park,
Brings green renewal. But yet April snows
Can still surprise me, stir me from my rest
For snow is April’s chill, unwelcome guest.
C Richard Miles