April Came

"April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers."
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

         I walked to the harbor on my lunch hour. It is not unheard of for me to do such a thing, but uncommon as of late. The winter had been long, and dire winds had blown hard until the end of March leaving me with little desire for whimsical walks through the city. I waited for April in an office of steel and concrete, watching snow and ice fall over the citizens below my window. I felt as though I had been hibernating in an overly complex cave, safe and insulated within those walls with all the trappings of civilization to keep me warm.
         Trappings. I like the way that sounds; it seems completely fitting.
         I hadn't much then. I owned no house, no stocks or bonds, and the contents of my room (rented from an accountant in the county) could hardly be called a fortune unless you deal in a gypsy's trade. My books from the university I kept in a box, and the compass my granny gave me at graduation was kept open on my low crate-table, a testament to expectations. All else of my possessions accounted for little more than a stack of debris in a life half-lived.
         That day I walked to the harbor was not unusual, nor was it ordinary. It was just a day, but there was something to it; there was something in the air that lifted me from heavy Winter's rest. The pink and white blossoms of the trees along the boulevard puffed up a little, and bounced slowly on the breeze keeping pace with me. I had my grandmother's compass in my pocket for a change; this too was not extraordinary, but it was not anything else either. I ran my fingers over it, feeling the softly worn etchings on its case.
         I walked to the enormous clipper painted in black and pale blue; she had been moored for the winter but now she was held only by ropes, mere threads against her massive hull. I lingered there for a moment on the docks taking in the salty smell of Atlantic winds carrying hints and traces of aromas from distant shores, a million flowers blooming elsewhere, out of sight and out of reach.
         I walked to the dock shed and greeted the captain. He was a tall old man, thick and rough. Time had left a signature upon his skin, reddened and creased with so many seasons. He had a smile that seemed a little too genuine, a little too clever, as though he knew a secret and meant to keep it. I introduced myself, and though I don't think he was one bit impressed with me, he didn't shove me off either. He talked at length of adventure and hardship, treating me to a sailor's finest gift, and I was eager to take in every morsel of each story, hungry for more words and sights and sounds.
         All the world seemed wondrous. As I stood there conversing like a fool I asked him for a contract. He laughed and called me an idiot, but did not stop smiling even after my name had dried in black upon the page. I made ready, as it were, and secured a closet with the accountant in which my belongings might be held without charge. I was not too concerned with whether or not my things would be well kept; it did not seem to me that I needed them. Within a week I watched the greens, grays, and beiges of the city shrink away behind me in favor of the endless blue of the sea.
         My granny read me poetry as a child, and as the shore vanished beneath an azure disk of deep waters, I heard her words deep in my heart. I knew what they meant even before my mind had recognized them; "April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers." I smiled, she must have known all along. The whole of me was afloat on the great sea as I wondered what flowers would bloom on the next shore.


Word Count: 699