April is always the turning point in the year for me. March is treacherous—promising spring, and then changing its mind—up and down of cold and warm and then hot, and then it’s still cold. But April is redbuds in varying shades of pink, and dogwoods, and yards full of daffodils and tulips. April is robins and cardinals and mockingbirds coloring the blueish gloom before sunrise with hope. April is the final turn towards spring.
Christ is Risen, He is Risen, indeed.
Rose John Sheffler 