April: Reliably Unpredictable

April: Days when the sun rides a bright blue sky; tiny insects buzz through warm afternoons; birds are frantically busy with nesting materials, responding to the primeval need to insure yet another generation of their kind.

Fresh grass springs up replacing the drab brown spears of a long winter.

 Redbud has burst forth with an intensity of color that surpasses former seasons.

Dogwood blooms against a background of redbud and the tender new leaves of tulip poplars.

Both redbud and dogwood are insignificant once their brief time of bloom has passed, slender brittle trees that nearly disappear as more stalwart species spread their canopies of leaves.

The blossoms of redbud creep along branches and twigs.

There have been slow misty mornings giving way to mid day warmth that has prompted us to turn on the car's A/C while running errands. 

Fiery sunsets fade into gentle dusk.

A cloud-filled morning sky.

Sunday morning, after a restless night, I woke before daylight, hearing the pop of distant thunder.  Wind moaned beneath the window pane I had left pushed open a mere inch.

A rising wind brought spatters of rain, a soft arrhythmic thrumming on the metal roof.

I listened for a bit, decided sleep wasn't likely an option.

I showered, pulled on jeans, added a shabby flannel shirt over a long-sleeved, paint-daubed top.

The greatroom was dim, as though the fog outside had seeped through the walls, wrapping itself around furniture, obscuring the view out the windows. 

The cats made their usual rush to the door, but hesitated on the threshold, wary of rain and wind.

Jim made a fire in the woodstove while I rattled about despondently in the kitchen.

Settled at his laptop, mug of steaming coffee at hand, he surveyed the doplar weather map, reported on damaging storms that had roared through areas south of us.

Late in the forenoon the sun came out. 

Clouds, billowing white, but grey edged, charged across a brilliantly blue sky, driven before a steadily rising wind. 

Rain had blown onto the east porch, the west porch was dry.

On the lower walk-out porch, potted plants set along the edge were mud splattered.

The boy cats ventured outside, wallowed through wet pasture grass, plodded back through mud instead of taking to the graveled area.

The air was warm, mildly humid.

During the afternoon Jim decided a trip to Lowes Home Improvement was necessary; dry wall 'mud' was needed, electrical and plumbing bits, a sink for the downstairs bath.

Jim chose a leisurely route that lead through small hamlets, past farms. 

Tree branches tossed in the persistent wind; seed heads, pollen, flower petals sailed through the air.

The digital read-out on the car's dashboard held at 83 F.

Back in the car after an hour and a half in the store, we noted the temperature had fallen to 66 F.

Evening brought a decided chill; wind howled through the treetops. Items not securely battened down tumbled across the dooryard. 

I brought tender plants into the sunroom, moved others to shelter against the wall of the east porch.

Howard, coming back from a foray to his camper in the gusty twilight, informed us that a chunk of the fire-deadened tree near the buried remains of the old cellar hole, had fallen--luckily rolling down the side of the ravine instead of pitching toward the campers.

It was late when I went to my bedroom.  I opened the west-facing window a bit for fresh air, turned out the light. The wind beat against the glass, hummed, moaned, the sound rising to an unsettling clamor. Sighing, I turned on the bedside lamp, stood for a second or two feeling cold air bite through my nightgown, then closed the window, fetched a book to read.

The wind blew itself out toward morning leaving us with a crisply cool bright day.  We've kept the wood fire smoldering against the chill.

The remainder of the largest dead tree--it needs to come down, but an awkward place to attempt a removal.

Afternoon sun highlighting 'Jane' magnolia.

Now, in early evening, sun is streaming through the west windows.

The cats have chosen cozy spots in Jim's bedroom.

The west porch is too chilly to sit there in spite of the sun.

Capricious April is at the halfway mark. We may have cold rain, T storms, blazing sun, high winds or balmy breezes.

 April perhaps more than any other month, is a season of variables and constant changes.

Teasel and Charlie have found spots to nap in the sun.

Nellie has chosen to sprawl on the bed.