Month By Month

March

3/01/00

Dear Tentative Sunlight,

You need not feel afraid around me. I know this is the month of your unsheathing, and I know the winter glares at you upon your coming. Winter thinks you are weak and worthless, hardly to be called one of its own.

But sunlight! But March! I do not think these things!

So do not be so hesitant; the earth weeps for your coming. It's not as if winter is only a steeled and ruthless prison, but—one can hardly praise its ragged talons and blue lips for long. The air is stale now, the frost's leave is long overdue.

The world trembles ever so faintly now—last month's tremors have stilled—it's as if the land is careful now to not frighten change away. Everything waits in silent anticipation for lovely March to reign. And we want it to so ever much.

I am not saying the winter makes me ill, but oh—sunny days are ahead. I long to see this frozen place dance like I feel it's meant to.

This wish is on its way, for February's snowfalls have melted in the valley. The lake is not yet lapping, and the buds haven't formed yet, but—the morning mist is warmer, and the heather field is open to the winds. I see their wild heads rattle in the breeze, free now.

I cannot wait for petals to unfold, for the bees to swim amongst them. I cannot wait for the birds to unfurl from wherever they sleep unseen in the cold. I cannot wait for merriment and blossoms blooming pink or gold, and leaves wrinkling to green.

Though these mountains are mainly coniferous, I know I'll see the spring through the trees, for this is no ordinary place.

March, the month when the land awoke.