It’s March, folks.
I have gotten tired of people asking me how I’m doing and responding, “Medium.”
We’ve had a pretty mild winter around these parts, but even with the lack of snow and cold weather, I’ve realized that I really hate winter. Not only because I hate to be cold, but because I hate the short days. I hate it that even on a day when it’s noon and sunny outside, you can tell that it’s February out there because the color of the sun is different. It’s not June sun. It’s not April sun. I even love October sun. But February sun leaves much to be desired with it’s pallor.
I start feeling gross right around November, get a bit of a reprieve once January hits and I can feel the days elongating just a bit, and then by February every time anyone talks to me I try not to spill my cranky all over them and find myself saying stuff like, “Let’s just move. How about Mexico?”
But it’s March. I’m sitting outside at a coffee shop getting some writing done, in short sleeves. It’s sunny. It’s March sun, so it’s starting to get a little of it’s lemony glow back. I know in my heart that March is Denver’s snowiest month, can remember the blizzard that hit on St. Patrick’s day a few years ago where we got six feet of snow, but the end is in sight. This is the home stretch, and we’re getting some breaks in between. I feel it in my soul, cheering me up. It’s a beautiful thing.
I’ve never loved March as much as I love it this year.
Welcome. Thank you for coming. I’ve always wanted to ask you, what are your “Ides?” I really look forward to your friend, April, but I’m going to enjoy every ounce of you until she gets here.
|Arthur, soaking up some rays at Stella's Coffee Shop.|