The Hardest Season
Spring was hard. The hardest. For this late in his life spring brought so many earlier springs to also touch him — a rush of them, each with a voice clearer than the next. Each singing faintly of promise, of rebirth, and not so faintly of fragrant and sunny mornings just above freezing but warming, warming, warming as the sun climbed well above the farmer’s barn — huge and dark up there on the hill to the east.