'April's strange, sweet sadness'

One of our columnists, Lynn Hutton, wrote a piece this week on things that make her heart sing. Editing through the copy, one stood out:

April's strange, sweet sadness

This is, without question, my favorite month of the year. There's so much to celebrate: spring and baseball and afternoon rains and days that make you glad to be alive. But I know what Lynn means about this so-called cruelest month.

Part of it is family history. My sister died in April. An uncle was killed tragically one year just before Easter.

Part of it is personal. For the last few years, my kidneys have develop stones the last weekend in April. Strange, isn't it? Here's hoping that dubious trend gets bucked this year.

Part of it is historical. The Civil War began -- and ended -- during the fourth month of the year. Lincoln was killed on Good Friday, 1865. (By the way, I'm quite tired of these ignorant neo-Confederates who practice fast and loose historical revisionism with Lincoln and his legacy. But I digress. That's another story for another day.)

April has a gentle beauty to it that the other months lack. I'm not quite sure why, although it has to be wrapped up in the newness of spring. April is like a newborn baby -- pure and beautiful, but delicate.

I went walking on the greenway trail yesterday afternoon and marveled at the beauty of the moment. A rabbit appeared on the sidewalk, not bothering to hop away until I was close enough to grab it.

I wish I could grab this month, hold onto it awhile, keep it with me as protection against the stifling realities of July and August.

But, no. April's beauty does bring with it a strange, sweet sadness, more than enough for one person to consume in 30 days.