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.
Cold winter rain today. Rain can be literal or metaphorical. Both seem in order today. John Fogerty asks, "Who'll stop the rain?" My guess is we're out of luck for today.
One good thing about March at least. Hope is the thing with feathers says the other poet. What on earth does that mean? For Lent I'm giving up hope. No, not really, just a little early spring humor. Ha, ha.
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