Ephemeral

The crocuses have flopped over—we had one very warm day. But the daffodils have stepped forth, the trumpet section of the Spring orchestra now tooting its yellow melody. As much as Spring is the season of hope and renewal, it is also the season of grief. Elinor Wylie in 1927: "That Spring, briefer than an apple blossom's breath," and Li Ch'ing-Chao in the eleventh century: "I am afraid I cannot keep / The pear blossoms from withering."