If I individually track the next thirty-one days, each is likely to feel different. Drizzle. Thunderstorms. Warm sunshine. Days of dreary cold and maybe even snow, weather to remind us we aren’t out of the winter woods yet. And your howling wind! Are you announcing yourself?
Or maybe the biting wind should be blamed on Ole Man Winter who won’t go without a fight.
Charles Dickens perfectly described you, March, as summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
Dear March, I know you mark the beginning of spring. I begin to dream of flower beds and lake days and fresh vegetables from farmer’s market, even though I never got a single bowl of snow cream.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Fiona Apple, Everyday
I started writing monthly letters to each month last July. Did you miss any of them? Here they are…