“Dear March—Come in—”

/ Brett Ann Stanciu

I stand outside eating a cheese sandwich stuffed with a handful of the lettuce I bought for my cat Acer. The trees across the road shake furiously in a wind as if outraged. What’s your complaint, I wonder.

Such a strange winter: a handful of skiing days, no ice skating, the hard cold a distant memory. The yuck of this winter has been the lack of sunlight, the sodden clouds that have lingered from last year’s rainy summer through January’s gloom. We kvetch. My own antidote is the early morning, my insistence that writing, that order and beauty, are a transformative might. There’s nothing new in that approach; it’s the ancient path of seeking luminosity, of Rumi’s words that the wound is where the light comes in.

In March, of course, sudden sunlight in your living room is apt to reveal the dirty cat hair clusters balled beneath your couch, the cobwebs trailing from the ceiling corner, drenched in dust. Make of it what you will.

Oh March, my long-time friend, giver of fine weather, betrayer with your miserable cold snowstorms. In the lengthening days, the sun returns like a long-ago lover. My friend the sun and I take long walks, my sunny friend whispering in my ear that brighter lovelier days are already here.

A few lines from Emily Dickinson:

Dear March—Come in—
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest—
Did you leave Nature well—
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me—
I have so much to tell—

19 thoughts on ““Dear March—Come in—””

  2. Even though I live in NW Georgia, we have had a dreary winter and I’m happy to welcome March! Thank you! Millicent Flakehttp://www.maflake.com 706-260-8665

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  6. We are having strange weather too. Right now it is 80 degrees, which is a bit warm, not exceptionally warm but we had 94 in mid February, which was a record. Tomorrow morning we are expected to get severe thunderstorms with large hail and possible tornadoes.

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  9. “My own antidote is the early morning, my insistence that writing, that order and beauty, are a transformative might.” 

    How nice to discover a kindred spirit at the end of this day. What a lovely place filled with beautiful words you have here. Thank you so much for connecting. I’m not sure how you found me but I don’t understand these things. I’m just glad you did.

    And, yes, also about the sunlight. How we need it. But those fur balls and cobwebs, crumbs and dust it reveals. Ugh. I find I can’t settle in until I tidy up so that’s why I also adore the gray, cloudy days. 

    Deb

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