March is a month askew. For me.
The ice is in transition. Treacherous. Not what it seems. Do I use up the firewood on the porch, or conserve it in case it turns deeply cold again? Do I pack away the long underwear and dig out the t-shirts?
It’s a psychological thing most of all. I understand the groggy bear in late winter. Hungry for sunlight and fresh food, but wary of leaving the warm cave.
Soon, the ground will thaw, we’ll smell it. But right now, I’m tempted to bury myself under the covers and dig out another book.