Musings on March

My relationship with March is
complicated. I want it to be
what it cannot: a younger May
stripped of any hint of January.
Instead, March is fiercely March.
It is a month with a mind of
its own and it brooks no challenge
to self-expression. Now its
ice winds cut across my skin even
while shadows shorten and trees
begin to drip sweet. March snow clings
to shadows tenaciously – white knuckling
the wheel of life.

The other day I ate my salad outside on an Adirondack chair,
bundled up like a swaddled babe, the sun was stroking my
face even while the wind scratched it. The snow chuckled,
nervously.

2 thoughts on “Musings on March

  1. shoreacres says:

    Ah, March. Lion and lamb, as used to say: it came in as one, and left as the other. In between, they battled.

    I laughed and am still chuckling myself over your nervous snow.There always was something sad about watching the last of the snowman melt away, even though we were eager for it to happen.

    • agjorgenson says:

      Yes, but snow always gets the last laugh in Canada with a surprise visit, in my experience, in every month except July. And I suspect July is not uncommon further north, or in the mountains. But you are right, the last bits of snow, all dirty and stretched out, are a bit sad.

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