April
APRIL
I can’t abide to be outdoors, in April. The new light dazzles me. The bright lambs, ditches spilling daffodils, the kindling sun, the sea-gleams near and far. How glad I am to keep indoors, going between the web and the loom. . . By daffodil-light, I see a score of spider-webs and the greyness of my cloth and the empty loom in the corner.