March

The poet says that April is the cruelest month. Maybe so, but March isn't bad on the cruelty scale. We deal with alternating winter and spring days in March, but I never get used to it. Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds says Emerson, but the Boston Brahmin never lived in the South as far as I know. The possibility of inclement weather seems worse in March. The birds are in concert outside my door this morning singing acapella, which breeds optimism that another spring is imminent; yet bad weather is predicted for tomorrow. 
Isn't March 5 Fat Tuesday? One good thing about March at least. For Lent I'm giving up hope. No, not really, just a little early spring humor. Ha, ha.
Easter is far into April this year. Plenty of time to prepare my Easter basket. Moyna is not likely to have a new Easter bonnet so hopefully I don't have to write a sonnet. April, come she will, but we'll have to deal with the vagaries of March first.