ODD: T.S. Eliot’s famous poem The Waste Land begins with the lines, “April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.” One interpretation of this is while the cold winter keeps us numb and forgetful, the regeneration that comes with spring is painful, reminding us of happier times, now long past.

I know this is certainly true for me. Spring arrived in New England last week, and whenever I found myself walking down a sunny street, the birds chirping and the smell of fresh blossoms in the breeze, I was instantly treated to a series of nostalgic sensations ranging from my childhood to just last year. I remembered “playing guns” in the forest behind our old house on Silva Street; setting up Transformers in a living room lit by the afternoon sun; trekking with my old dog Friskie through Miles Standish State Forest. I hear the cry of a seagull and I’m stepping across the large stones of the Plymouth Jetty, listening to the water lapping at the rocks. (more…)