hello, March

This morning I thought March was coming in like a lamb, but there are twenty-four hours in a day, and by mid-afternoon the wind was roaring, the clouds rolled in and it's supposed to be twenty-nine degrees by nine o'clock. That's a lion. That is March in New England. I couldn't believe how mild it was earlier - sixty-two degrees - and the cats and I really enjoyed the open windows, but I wore boots to the supermarket, because snow was predicted for late afternoon. It didn't happen.

I was reading a substack post today, and the person quoted a paragraph from a Mary Oliver poem. One line caught my fancy:

"In March, the earth remembers its own name."

Yes, the earth around here is waking up. But not tomorrow; it's going to be in the twenties, and tonight my brother threw out some carrot chunks for the rabbits; they do come!

this squirrel stayed still here for so long, I wondered if he was all right