I have the unquenchable urge to celebrate when I flip the calendar to March. Obviously February was given the fewest days of all the months, as it is least tolerable of the twelve. Even Valentines Day does little to redeem such a disappointing month. I am as sick of winter by the end of February as I am of the last piano student in the recital when my child played a half hour before.
But now it's March and there is hope contained on the page of 31 days spread before me. The lion can roar a few more times but I know the lamb will have the last laugh.
And this little bud on our dogwood tree is just as giddy as I am!
1 comment:
March 20 is so close. Then I fully expect open windows, daffodils and no more winter coats.
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