2017 April 2nd – Sunday
March is gone. It went away yesterday before dawn. We said goodbye at the dock, you know, the famous one that sits next to the bay, where water runs backwards with the tide, then flushes away again. In and out, that old song, yes. We said goodbye to March. It was dark. Then April came.
She is sweet, her flowers rushing through my eyes, shining yellow and white daisies, or “margaritas” – as I learned to call them in Mexico, leaning over a hillside of flowers, and whispering, “Flores, flores, flores…” until I heard the Aztec word, “xochitl” echoing back to me, in my ear, mind, heart.