ABOUT MARCH, I HAVE ALWAYS felt ambivalent. This admission comes as a surprise, even to me, for March is the month that relieves us from the coldest cold, that pulls us from mud and muck of winter, that shines a light toward a hopeful, even if it is distant, spring. March cuts a path, sabres a swath, serves as a leading edge just as we are wont to make a bold move toward April. The days get longer. The early buds bloom. We dig out shorts and t-shirts and we believe the tide has turned, the cold and gray is fully behind us.
But you cannot count on March, that’s my issue. You can’t ever count on March, the month that tempts and teases, that says one thing and does another, the month that year after year makes grand promises it simply cannot keep. March is indecision, second-guessing, a patch of sturdy ground that just as you start to rise, gives way. Another rain, another cold day, another cold spell and once again the world is awash in a monochrome you know well as winter’s flat gray.
I expect too much when it comes to March, I am sure this is true. Because I do believe there is much to be said for taking things slow. For easing in, for extending a little grace as the earth takes a moment to wake up, warm up, show up. Because spring will arrive—I do know that. Spring will arrive and it will come in Easter-sweet, blue skies and puffy clouds and a landscape dotted as if with the flicked tip of painter’s happy brush: yellow and lavender and white, and every shade of pink. Plus broad strokes of that magical green/gold, the color that comes only of the earliest leaves. It is the color of hope, that green, my very most favorite in nature’s amazing palette; why even an interstate highway holds a promise of possibility when what you see ahead are miles and miles lined in that tender—almost translucent—new tree leaf green.
This is all on its way, I do know that. New life will emerge and eventually it will bloom and it will do this in fullness and in truth. And so I shall hang on, and I will do my best to ride the proverbial wave and accept that March, too, is simply anxious. Excited. Eager. A runner set in blocks, all too ready to jump the gun in anticipation of warm and sunny and golden, of sunshine and laughter, of tomorrow being a brighter day.
Because we all feel the need, am I right? After this long slog of a COVID year. After a cold winter filled with discontent.
Bring it on, I say.
Do your thing, March, however you can, in whatever way you can, in any way you see fit.
We are ready.