April isn't the cruelest month, really. It's August, for the reasons you stated so well.
OK, you know how you like to add "air is everywhere!" sciencey-type comments to these? Here comes your lesson in 20th century modernist poetry.It's exactly the blossoms and gentle revivifying warmth of April that led Eliot to call it the cruelest month -- birth and dawning consciousness, from a certain perspective, are about the birth of suffering -- the cold static death-like state of winter is comparatively comfortable.I've often said August is the February of summer.
There was once a time that I realized that, but then I forgot and started to think it was about hay fever because I know so many people who suffer then. Now, I'm laughing at myself. August is indeed the February of Summer.
ha ha! I always have to keep in mind what the traditional poetic associations of spring are, because for me it's mostly about having trouble breathing etc
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