by A.M. Dunne, Ireland
We slash and hack and burn, hedges wasted, trees slaughtered, wildlife afflicted. And yet another April. Buds form, soft as skin. Leaves burst out shining, perfect; a heartbreaking green. Bird song rinses the air, drenches the senses. Primroses pop up. There, the heart-soaring sound of the cuckoo. April returns with the heart-stopping sight of the swallows. And yet, how many more?