Take one pound of endless March.

Whip up 3 snowstorms.

Add mid-semester twitchiness.

Chop up a handful of cabin fever.

Bake. But only until partly done, because March is lumpy, gooey, and unpleasant.


If I were to tweet every day in March about March it would go, “Oh, March. You’re so…March.”

I’m knitting a spring scarf in a measure of hope (but also denial about the present moment).

Montego Bay

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