Yes. That white stuff is still floating through the air on this 13th day of March. It’s cold. I’m tired. My legs ache from yesterday’s strength building session (in preparation for kayaking season), and my spirits are flagging in the absence of bright sun. And what about our friends and family on the East Coast, braving their third storm in as many weeks?
But. The bluebirds have returned to the hill! M. and I saw a male/female pair flitting along the north perimeter lane on Saturday, their earliest showing yet. Within minutes of M. installing the bluebird boxes, the male was inspecting his housing options, perched on one of the box roofs, singing away.
So. The month of March does pull a person this way and that. In the Ohio Valley, one minute it’s spring and the next winter. What is left to do but flee to Florida? (Many Ohioans do) If that’s not an option, there’s also the choice to be present in the rain, snow, sleet, sun, cloud, wind, or bluebird sightings. It’s all here and all now in….May, did you say? Nope. Not yet.
The merry, merry month of May will arrive. 61 years on the planet have assured me of that. In the meantime, I pull overhead my favorite grey cashmere sweater, throw a wool scarf around my neck, and call myself satisfied. Pouring steaming ginger green tea into cups, Sharon Stohrer and I plan for future workshops. Content to be here. Grateful for now.
A fine day to you, whatever the weathers—