March Snow.

You know what they want to give us overnight? Snow. And though the brand-new cherry tree is in bloom, and though the nearly-new cherry from last year is nearly in bloom, and though the daffodils are all but finished blooming, and though I had to dig through the laundry to find the one flannel shirt that has the right thickness, and though my good bad boots—as opposed to my good good boots, the ones I wear to fancy deals—broke today and ejected some piece of metal that was an integral part of the booting, leaving me without solid snow-weather boots for tomorrow's trek to the shed, and though I may not have enough lumber cut and ready for a snowy Monday's work, and though this runs a little against what I've been up to at the forecast the last few weeks while I've been begging for warmer weather, for some slide out of that long chilly winter, I will take it, I will take it, I will take it. I don't know why. It feels right. Maybe it's the temporary aspect of things—within weeks, if not days, it'll be spring again. Maybe it's that as ready as I was to give up January, I wasn't quite ready to give up January. August will be here so, so soon. Here is a little cold to take the edge off that, something late-breaking enough to remember. Here is one more good week to fire the woodstove, and one especially good morning to do so. The taxpaid fancies say any time between 4 and 11 a.m. is a good time to see snow. I love it. We're all the way to April and we pick up Boston's weather. God save them up there, I guess. If I was up there, this little song would have a decidedly more minor key. But I'm not. I'm here, in North Carolina, where Jim Clark says it always snows in March, and by god even on the heels of six days of eighty degrees he turns out to be right. Read your almanacs, people, and listen closely to your oracles. We've broken the weather and much of the world, but sometimes even something broken snaps back to what it was supposed to be all along. Sometimes that old truck out there starts on the first try. You never know. You do not ever know.