The Poet Likes June. Me, I Like April.

​   "What is so rare as a day in June?" asks James Russell Lowell,

... in his abstrusely entitled and 'way too long  poem, "The Vision of Sir Launfal," of which the above line is probably the best line in the whole thing.
       My answer to the poet is, "Why, a day in April, of course."
      Or so I've been thinking the past few weeks during my morning, afternoon, and evening walks around the neighborhood.
     Over a year later, walking around the 'hood continues to be my main pandemic diversion, followed by streaming  movies on TV,  

...zoom-chatting.

...and whipping up fancier chow than I used to.

     In truth, even after a year of laying low, and even after getting my COVID shots, I'm still not quite ready to circulate in public any more than necessary. And besides, I've grown as accustomed to walking around the block every day as I used to be to going out to eat twice a week and to the movies three times a week. 
      And so, after a year of strolling the neighborhood and watching the seasons change from spring, 

​...to summer, 

​...to fall,

​...to winter,

..now back to spring again, I believe I would venture to tell James Russell Lowell that I'll see his day in June and raise him a day in April.