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‘Never heard otherwise,’ said Peter No one disagreed Gaain and Peter ducked into the kitchen to check on dinner

Ga the laestured to Peter, who sether, listening to the conversation in the next room

‘Hear tomorrow’s supposed to be nice, finally,’ said Peter ‘Sunny and warm’

‘April’s like that, isn’t it?’ said Ga it onto a tea towel nestled in a wooden bowl Ga of the wood One of Sandon’s bowls

‘Unpredictable, you mean?’ said Peter ‘Difficult month’

‘Sunny and warreed Galory of an April day’

‘I prefer T S Eliot The cruellest month’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘All those spring flowers slaughtered Happens al out Opening up And not just the spring bulbs, but the buds on the trees The rose bushes, everything All out and happy And then boom, a freak snowstor they weren’t talking about flowers any more

‘But ould you have happen?’ he asked Peter ‘They have to bloom, even if it’s for a short time And they’ll be back next year’

‘But not all’ Peter turned to look at Garavy ‘Some never recover We had theand a hard frost killed it a few years back’

‘A killing frost,’ quoted Gamache ‘It nips his root And then he falls, as I do’

Peter was tre, Peter? Is it Clara?’

‘No one’s falling I won’t allow it’

‘Strange in Canada, we talk all the ti we can’t control The weather We can’t stop a killing frost and we can’t stop the flowers fro what they’re meant to do Better to bloom even for an instant, if that’s your nature, than live forever in hiding’

‘I don’t agree’ Peter turned his back on his guest and practically puréed the stew

‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you’

‘You didn’t,’ said Peter to the wall

Ga pine table, set for dinner, then returned to the living rooht the poet had called April the cruellest month not because it killed flowers and buds on the trees, but because sometimes it didn’t How difficult it was for those who didn’t bloom when all about was new life and hope