The Wild April Wind

The smell of fresh earth and the sound of rain drops falling. Cold icy winds in the morning, and the warmth of sunshine in the evening. Ah, that's April in the mountains!
The chill of winter has fled these hills - scared away by the Wild April Wind, which now sits purring in the tops of the trees - as if to say: "I don't know if we'll have a summer or not, you'll have to wait and see . . . It all depends on me!"
A white oak leaf, brand new and bright green; half an inch long and half a day old, lies dead on the deck; killed and brought home by the Wild April Wind which now sits purring up high in the trees.

The pathway that leads between the compost and garden into the woods now lies mired in mud, and it’s rough and slippery. Green things cautiously peep out of the mud, keeping an eye on the April sky. These are the leaves of the flowers of summer; but the flowers still hide from the Wild April Wind, which still sits and purrs - watching - from the tops of the scared April trees.