APRIL IS THE CRUELLEST MONTH

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain








The opening lines of T.S. Eliot's poem may well have been written for the Southern hemisphere and not the Northern except for the reference to Spring.
Elliot takes the opposite stance of other writers talking about Spring. They talk about birth and rejuvenation. He talks about death.


There is a certain amount of tristesse with the end of Summer and the onset of the colder months although this is not without beauty (I particularly liked Man of Error's reference to it in his latest post .."The sky is clear and blue, and the air a little cool.  Autumn is rapidly doing its work with the trees.").


Tristesse, melancholy, 'the end of the Golden Weather' feeling if you will is a natural part of the cycle of seasons that make up life. The trick is in knowing (and believing) that it is a cycle otherwise melancholy can morph into depression. Who knows what endless Summer would bring? Ennui? A sense of sameness? Personally I love the change of seasons and the challenges they bring.


A TV advertisement  (National Bank?) captures this very well. A geezer locks up the Summer paraphernalia (deck-chairs, paddling pools etc.) in the garden shed and when walking away, glances back over his shoulder with a sad and regretful look on his face.


I've got the wood in for Winter.