While March Madness is usually associated with basketball and even consumer blitzes, March is madness when it comes to weather. One day lovely enough to doze in the sun, the next is a frightful onslaught of wind and rain. My daffodils are cautiously lifting their green points from the earthen bed, unsure of what will greet them–freeze or warmth. This poem dropped in my box today and is perfect after a soggy wind-blown weekend.
March Evening by Amy Lowell
Blue through the window burns the twilight;
Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind.
Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light,
Wet, black branches are barred and entwined.
Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot
Dents into pools where a foot has been.
Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not
Of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen.
Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers
Scattering wide at a stronger gust.
Above, the old weathercock groans, but remembers
Creaking, to turn, in its centuried rust.
Dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow,
Wrapping the mists round her withering form,
Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
Travails to birth in the womb of the storm
How is spring arriving in your locale?