March is a month of magic. I don’t mean making hankies come out of your mouth or coins disappear, I mean deep magic, transformation. It’s a wild month. Plans are chancy. What looks like a pleasant day, has the bite of winter. And sometimes winds, fierce blasting winds carry the texture of May in their rush.
Then there are the daffodils. When February is asserting its miserable gray domination, green tendrils refuse to pay attention to the grip of Winter that seems so consistent. They literally crack the brittle ground. March belongs to daffodils. A warm March is inundated by their yellow proclamation to shed the prison garb of winter and claim color again.
I’m ready for March. I’d better be. It’s here.
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