A Blank Page
April
There is a theory that the naming of April is connected to the Latin word aperire, ‘to open’. It is not the only origin story for the month, but it feels like a helpful one today. I am opening a new notebook, always a moment of greedy delight mixed with trepidation. Is all this fresh paper going to be spoiled by my leaden scribblings? Will I do justice to the beauty of the pages, offering up as they do their pure space, only to be crammed full of ideas and notes?
My walk this morning was under a milky sky, chill air returning to touch the land with low mist and a few strands of frosted grass. Tree blossom and lambs’ wool caught in hedges, paper-white against green. I like slivers of time like today, cool and anticipating the chaos of spring proper. It is a gentle opening up, a pale invitation to imagine what comes next. And I especially appreciate the tentativeness of April this year, not least because of a cold that has dragged on and left me with less hunger for new starts than usual. I need time to step into this month.
In West Oxfordshire, we have been treated to some bright days and almost sultry evenings. On Wednesday, the sound of laughter and games cast out from the pub garden, competing with dusk birdsong, the Aunt Sally team and nature both practicing for summer. But today the temperatures have dropped down and the new lambs are all asleep in far corners of fields. There is still scope for everything to unfurl and explode in colour.
