March is
the vague smell of melting snow and awakening soil. Birds chirping madly. Weariness and weak hope. Rain and snow and awful, everlasting mud, a sun that is blinding in brightness but with no heat at all. Tulips on every kitchen table, dirty windows, plans for spring holidays. My mother's birthday: coffee and cake, laughing siblings and in-laws, teenagers rolling their eyes. And then, the feeling when the first sunray with some actual warmth hits your pale cheeks and the wildness starts burning in your blood.
That in-between, dangerous month.
No comments:
Post a Comment