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).