Sometimes I’ve said that the only good thing that ever happened to me in March is my older son John’s birth.
Mark used to say that I get weird around John’s birthday, but I think I just get weird in March.
It’s spring, but it’s dirty crusty old snow spring.
And sunny but a raw wind in your face spring.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of
May, Wm. Shakespeare. Although in March there’re not too many darling buds as yet.
Too hot for this coat and leggings but I’m just not ready to bare my flabby winter white arms and legs yet spring.
I guess I just don’t know what else to say about it spring.