Hal Borland, outdoor editorialist for the New Yorker from 1940-1978, said that "March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice."
I say that March is a fickle temptress, gently woo-ing the pale-faced winter-weary with sweet hints of color and bloom, then laughing as she tossess gusts and gales of snow, sleet and rain at their world.
Or perhaps... March is a young cage fighter, throwing punches at a weakening Winter, fighting to take his place in the turn of seasons.
Either way, whether March is fighting for our right to Spring, or teasing us and dangling the change of season like a carrot, the weather this month has been confusing, depressing, lovely, and infuriating by turns.
We had the pleasure of dining with friends on Saturday evening at their home in the heart of Portland. As we opened our car doors we were immediately greeted with a blast of sweet-smelling Spring air. I wanted to stay forever (the yummy lasagne and cake and conversation and impromptu piano recital sweetened the pot more than a little).
We didn't stay forever, only for the usual amount of time, but it seems we pulled a bit of Spring home with us. We were greeted by Swallows the next morning, and our snow has mostly melted away.
It is Spring Break for us this week, and this Mama has made all kinds of play-date plans for the kiddos. Here's hoping our month goes out like a Lamb...