We can’t possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name’s become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It’s a sad season of life without growth…It has no day.

A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.

April Rain It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of gray engulf the day And overwhelm the town; It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining roses down. It is not raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where any buccaneering bee May find a bed and room. A health unto the happy! A fig for him who frets!- It is not raining rain to me, It’s raining violets.

I have walked this south stream when to believe in spring was an act of faith. It was spitting snow andblowing, and within two days of being May … But as if to assert the triumph of climate over weather,one ancient willow managed a few gray pussy willows, soft and barely visible against the snow-blurredgray background.

Adolescence begins when children stop asking questions-because they know all the answers.

Christmas begins about the first of December with an office party and ends when you finally realize what you spent, around April fifteenth of the next year.