April is a strange month.
It's a windy bunch of nonsense, punctuated by the first real actual heat of the year. It's coated in wildflowers and promise of wildfires. April is when people change times for reasons that still escape me. April is a curious mix of things coming to a close and things just starting. April is opening day and playoff runs. April is when politics get wacky and when the dead become famous for the wrong reasons.
April is a spotlight nobody can dodge. April is a musical explosion. April as a first name makes more sense than April as a month. It's all about looking to the future, getting lost in what might actually matter.
April is a strange month, senses choked off.
It's bright mornings and empty evenings. People run, from old lives and new ones. April's just a half a cup of coffee, not enough to do anything but still rich tasting.
April. I'll mark another year soon, not that I really care to.
If January is wheel-spinning, April is bald tires and a reckless driver.
April may eventually get somewhere, but there's never any telling.