The springtime is fickle – you never know if tomorrow is the day for tulips bursting from their bulbs or if winter has yet to depart. One day, there is sunshine and pale blue skies, the next there is cooing winds at the windowsill and dreaded snow falling from dark clouds. I try to stay patient in my wait for warm weather. I lift my feet into socks, I pull sweaters over my head and I sit at the window trying to repaint what I see into a springtime scene.
If I can't have the garden to dig my hands into, then let me have my banjo for clawing at and singing songs with. I've learned two new songs in recent months and soon I will begin another. I live for my banjo, it is my life blood, my mother and my moon. I am certain that I would be unhappy without it.
I'm going into April with the desire to rise earlier, make more use of my time, quit letting weather and other people dictate how I should feel, and a pride that will let myself be myself. Let me sing in April like each note is a whole world listening.
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