After a record breaking winter of snow, ice, and more snow (Which I thoroughly enjoyed by the way!) March has arrived. Unfortunately, March is my least favorite month of the year. Save for St. Patrick's Day and the rare Easter, there are no holidays in March. The weather is no longer winter crisp and clear with hopes of snow. Yet, it also isn't yet warm. March is the month of mud. The month of brown from winter and not yet green of spring. March is morose. Have you gotten the sense that I dread March?!
For all its faults however, March is usually when the daffodils start to poke through the just thawing soil. No one has told them that the nights are still cold and the risk of frost remains for another six weeks. And somehow, even if they could be warned, I know they would soldier on. For daffodils, like no other flower, embody the hope that beats within us all. We know that it will get better. The sun will come out tomorrow, or the next day.
To paraphrase Petula Clark (Downtown) When you're alone and life is making you lonely, you can always get daffodils.