What I love about March is that promise of spring. You can tell the world shifted; the sun feels brighter and warmer; the snow melts; everything sits in expectation for growth.
But it’s still quite cold. It’s such a strange in-between state: What I perceive in the light doesn’t match the reality of the cold wind.
Isn’t it always this way in life? I choose to live in the hope that new light promises. I leave the house for an afternoon walk, bundled tightly against the lingering winter. But I tilt my face to the sun. I know what’s real.