Heavy winds over the last week sent me a message. Time to take down the holiday greenery…well, brownery. If you don’t do it, said the March wind, I’ll take care of it for you.
By this time of year, my winter-burrowing ways are under the gentle siege of dawn’s earlier breaking and evening’s lingering light. March still has plenty of snow in store, but it doesn’t have the staying power of January-February snowfall. There’s a kind of promise in the March wind. It says, wake up, life is coming back around.
Sometimes I wonder how many more Marches I have ahead of me. I hope a lot, but it’s weird to know without a doubt that I’m more than halfway done with my Marches. Best to make the most of each one.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 189: 132 words, TOTAL = 30,930; 29,070 remaining
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Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.