March

When local temperatures rise into the eighties in March I tend to get worried. As much pleasure as I can derive from a balmy, late-spring day, I prefer such days to arrive in May, or maybe even late April. When winter departs I'd prefer to have at least a few days when it gets warm enough that I can keep the windows open in the afternoons before the days arrive when I have to close them because it's gotten too hot.

I couldn't listen to the bees buzzing this afternoon because I had the windows closed, but the evening is cooling so rapidly that I won't be able to have them open long now, either, so I'll soon have to go outside to listen to the frogs and crickets. I'm being cheated out of spring! There are supposed to be a few cooler days this coming week, but I fear that days that are hotter still will follow them too soon.

But the grass smells splendid this evening (another thing I'd like to keep the windows open for.) In fact I've been putting off fixing dinner because there's nothing I can cook that will smell as good as that grass. I'd like a salad, but there hasn't been enough lettuce at a reasonable price in the stores yet this year, so all I've got on hand is a bit of wilting green leaf. A bowl of nice, crunchy romaine would be good, with some cucumber and tomato, but I think I'll have to settle for a sandwich instead. At least I won't have to use the stove.

Oh, March. You came in like a lamb but I fear you will go out like a camel.