Leonardo de Vinci proposed that “once you have tasted the taste of the sky, you will forever look up”. I, too, am constantly in awe of the sky. It is, after all, the canopy under which we live our lives.

With its shifting moods and colours, it affects us in more ways than we realise, from a sense of lightness and space under a high blue sky to a feeling of heaviness and closeness when low, dark grey clouds sit heavily upon our day. In April, the sky is a shifting kaleidoscope of shapes and shades. The air over Britain is still cool from winter, but the heat of the spring sunshine is warming the ground.

As the warmth rises into the cool air, the contrasting temperatures create voluminous cloud formations and subsequent torrential downpours.
Today, the sky tells me that anything could happen. The arctic wind has chased away the sun’s warmth and the daffodils in my garden have bent their heads towards the ground; broken by the morning’s ground frost. Even so, I don my boots and head out to enjoy whatever my stormy adventure brings.

April originates from the Latin verb “aperire”, which means ‘to open’, and this is exactly how April feels to me. The flowers, the trees and life itself are all opening up. The energising yellowness of celandines, primroses, and daffodils gleam optimism from the banks of the lane, whilst overhead, a white haze of abundant blackthorn momentarily colours my world white.

It’s fine, delicate petals slipping like confetti in the wind. I immediately recall my grandmother’s portent of a blackthorn winter heralding icy weather when the trees are in flower; the folklore is certainly true of today. Absorbed by the burgeoning life around me, I barely notice the ominous anvil shaped cloud whose margins engulf the entire horizon ahead of me.

Highlighted by the sun, the blue slate sky sits
oppressively
on the land contrasting the greening contours below, and grey patches of cloud tumble down in discernible streaks of rain. Yet, around the southern edges of this mini monsoon, blue sky pretends all is well. I am not convinced and take shelter under my rain jacket. As I walk down towards the river, I marvel at the drama of nature’s performance; my steps accompanied by the rhythmic sound of raindrops on my hood; like music to my ears. I love the month of April.

You can contact Dr Susie Curtin at curtin.susanna@gmail.com.

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