April is the kindest month. April gets you out of your head and out working in the garden.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
April, like a child, writes hieroglyphs on dust with flowers, wipes them away, and forgets.
April is the month of promise; it does not produce but it prepares the ground for flowering spring of May.
April is the time to go out into the world and see what nature is up to. April is a naturalist.