Spring has arrived at last. This winter was longer than those of years long past. This winter was cold and dark. I was alone. I was afraid. But not to worry, spring is here, winter is over. Oh, maybe this year I’ll find a four leaf clover, my dear. It’s been years since I last found one. Perhaps I shouldn’t go look for them. They might find their way to me. Who knows. We’ll have to wait and see. Yes, indeed, we do.

Maybe the grass will be even greener this year. Maybe the flowers will bloom for longer. I hope so. I love flowers. I love their colours, their shapes, and smells. But there is no way of knowing. It could start snowing, once again, couldn’t it? April is mysterious. No one ever knows what will happen. Flowers could bloom, or they could die. Easter could be a happy holiday, though I can’t guarantee that. Blessings may come in disguises. So may dangers and heartbreak. April is indeed so full of surprises.

After April ends, this much is sure: the year will keep rolling on by. I will get older. What that means, I do not know. Whatever happens, time will flow, flow and flow. I have had my time to bloom, but just like flowers, I will wither. We all have our time in the sun. But we fade after we’ve had our fun, my dear. We fade into the shadows. We cease to exist. There is only darkness. Or so I think. I can’t be sure. What happens after my last breath? Is there life after death, or is there not?

Oh, such foolish fears, silly old me. Even when we leave this world behind, we stay alive. In pictures. In stories. And in memories. We could live on for centuries. More or less, it doesn’t matter. We will be remembered for the lives we lived. Someone will remember our time in the sun. Someone will remember. We will be remembered like flowers, my dear. They are always remembered in their prettiest bloom. No one pays mind to withering, dying flowers. No one thinks about their doom. They will be remembered as vibrant, beautiful beings. And so will we.

Oh would you look at the time! Gracious! Well then, I must go. The sun is setting soon, and I want to see the flowers again. Oh, I could stare at them for hours on end. They’re my favourite thing about April. Tulips and daffodils softly swaying in the wind, beams of sunlight caressing their delicate petals. Not a care in the world, not a worry. But now, I must hurry, I really do. I want to see the flowers. No, I have to. I must see them. One last time.

Cover photo is the author’s own.