In Maine, March is really the harshest month because the weather plays with your mind. That is never more true than on days like today, a ice and snowstorm just days after warm weather.
Here is a poem I wrote this morning (more rant than perfect prose):
Unnamed Melancholy
Yesterday, there was a soft sunshine and the promise of spring,
Today, the bitter cold and absent color injures my soul.
Yesterday, I could hear the chatter of birds and the yearning of flowers,
Today, the winds howl and the rest of nature is deathly silent.
Yesterday, I could shed my jacket and dream of iced lemonade,
Today I bundle up against my shivers and gulp my cocoa.
Yesterday, I was hopping puddles and planning camping trips,
Today, I am shoveling snow and assessing fuel levels.
Yesterday, I had the joyful anticipation of spring blowing in my hair,
Today, I have harsh reality slapping icy shards on my face.
Melancholy I name thee: March!
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