Remember how I said that March is possibly one of the most uncongenial months of the year in New England? That’s because March tends to be characterized by a wavering between winter and spring, so that neither is fully here and the battle tends to leave the world drenched in mud, slush, mud, rain, and more mud.
But yesterday (Day 8) reminded me what a beautiful thing March can still be. It felt a little bit like when spring came to Narnia. A warm (yes, truly WARM) wind was blowing, and under its influence, rivulets of water began to run everywhere. Off the roofs, beside (or across) the roads, through the ruts in the mud, everywhere, water began its chuckling little song. I couldn’t resist driving with my windows down for a while, even though this meant being vulnerable to the sprays of water cast up by my car and passing trucks, as we charged through the great puddles on the road. Even though I came rather close to getting stuck on our road (it’s a dirt road which quickly develops muddy ruts deep enough to cause your car to bottom out, and it’s impossible to drive without being pulled into a slithering pattern back and forth across the road), I found that I could actually forgive March for being March. It was just so beautiful to remember that a world of warmth and growth and vibrant life will soon be here in place of the frozen, almost silent, landscape.