While February is the shortest month, I often find it's the longest. I'm tired of winter; I'm desperate for green things and warm sunshine, and I can't wait any longer for spring.
March, when it arrives, is filled with promises of things to come. There are warm spells; the snow recedes or even disappears; and spring seems definitely to be just around the corner.
In my neck of the woods, though, the snow disappeared only to return over the past week with a vengeance. This morning the wind seems to be blowing directly from the Arctic Circle onto my poor, shivering self. Winter reasserts its will with grim determination.
The forecast for next week calls for more of the same, but I look at the calendar and remind myself that it is, after all, March. April is coming. It can't stay winter forever.