So March came in like a lion, with a snowstorm across the northeast (but only two inches here). But the lion is dying, one last stalking perimeter circle to show his strength, baring his teeth but gasping for breath. I feel Spring out there on the edges, looking furtively to see if it's safe to emerge. "Fuck the groundhog," it mutters, "I want Out."
Soon, dear Spring, soon... we wait patiently, and hold candles against the dark.
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