March is my month

Beware the ides of March.

Or welcome the ides of March. I do.

Tonight it is snowing - finally. Like the apex of the arch, I have been suspended, waiting, waiting, waiting. Now the snow falls, and I descend.

Many months ago, a sooth-sayer spoke to me; she told me that I would meet my true love in March - or rather that I would find true love in March.

Today is March 1st. I am alone. Snowflakes blanketing the apple blossom tree across the street; snowflakes in Sally's hair; snowflakes on my shoulders, my face; snowflakes carpeting the deck; snowflakes shrouding the details, covering the grim, removing the stain. I have waited for snow.

Snow is sacred to me; my metaphor for beginning. I know most prefer spring but I prefer snow. Cover me, bury me, let the ugly decay and fall away and the green stem beneath erupt in the sun.

The crocus are already above ground. Bent yellow heads shaped like closed tulips resting in the snow, what do they say to me?

Here is the quiet night--the pause--before it all begins again. Cherish this moment. Soon the winds of March will knock my socks off!