March is my favorite month, even though this early morning it is only 22 degrees F outside, and it’s not just because my birthday is in March, although that doesn’t hurt.
March is the month of hope. It is reaching a land where green begins after a long hike through an ice bridge. Did people really do that to get to this continent? And I thought the discoverers of Hawaii in their little boats were brave. Imagine the first person who walked across, (or maybe it was through if Cincinnati’s natural history museum’s recreation of it is at all correct), the land bridge to the other side and then came back to tell about it. That was brave.
March is the month when there will be a day where the warm breath of spring blows down on us, wraps around us, and we will sigh, “Yes! I know you are coming, spring.”
March is the month when the still brown earth in my garden comes alive again. The small green tips of bundles of daffodils have already breached the surface and are growing upwards even as I type.
In the life cycle of nature, March is the month where life springs from death.
I just love March.