The best time of day in April is that scant hour following sunset, when the colors of the landscape deepen and grow richer, until they begin to fade altogether. For a while, the mauve violets and the red azaleas and the pink dogwood blossoms are so intense that they almost seem painted. Even the green of the grass seems denser than it did by day. In that hour the hummingbirds depart and the woodpeckers make their last chuckles, and the evening birds sing their brief songs. The crickets wake, and the frogs, and the moon grows more distinct in the darkening sky. When the air has cooled, it's pleasant to linger outdoors in the darkening world, unmolested by the bees who kept the warm afternoon humming.
Today was so mild that I've only just now closed my windows. I do like April— at least on these days when the pollen count is low.
I continue to scour YouTube for interesting things. This evening I found a clip from a 1960 Fred Astaire television special, in which he does a droll version of Cole Porter's witty blues parody Miss Otis Regrets, accompanied by Barrie Chase. She's 48 years older now. Fred, of course, is quite dead. The Internets is becoming everybody's limbo.