April, you are cruel. You claim to be Spring, but you act like Winter. You send out your bright, yellow forsythia, yet you hold back your yellow sun. You don't just rain; you rain hard and cold. Your wind whips violently. What is your game? Are you on a 30-day cleanse, hoping to fit into your bikini? 

You promise flowers in May. You better make good. In the meantime, we will wax our boats in the storage barns, duck for cover from the car to the store, and find warmth in a hot, morning shower.

April, you have promises to keep, and we will hold you to them.