Oh March, you oddity…neither here nor there, yet everywhere. The sort of month which finds flip flops in the kitchen and Wellingtons thrown into the back seat of the car; hot bowls of chili one day and a child asking for popsicles the very next day. Woolen blankets lie thrown over furniture and the stronger sun streams with heightened energy through the window…
The Ides of March saunters in with grim accusations and stabbing; the happy leprechaun appears, dancing two days later. You display your sillies while the winds off the lake rage against the side of the house and the street is white and thick with silence.
Perhaps I shall hazard a trip to the post office or I may peruse summer linens in the new catalog…
690 Saint Paul 