I can only suppose that the cross between lion and lamb is Liamb. Or a Throchee, if it’s trying to be significantly jarring.
I love March. So very much.
It’s giddy-makingly warm here and everything is so adorably excited to be growing. Maple trees ruddy themselves with shocking overnight growth, flowering bulbs dance in the breeze, plum and cherry blossoms toss petals everywhere, and color creeps into every unexpected corner.
Both my boys were born this month. I take special care every day of March to watch them just be. Inhabiting their bodies in ways no adult remembers how to do. Experimenting with the world in ways that produce amazing reactions that teach them the same Earth-bound lessons that thousands and thousands of humans before them have learned. Gravity’s plops and mud’s splats and water’s wily ways.
But these scientists are mine to care for, nurture, prune gently and judiciously, March reminds me.
Spring is one of the few times I feel I might be able to do that. Maybe even well.
Have a favorite month? Have a time of year that offers as much to you as Spring Festival and Nowruz and birthdays and a preponderance of green and white and yellow and pink and purple and blue? Prefer summer’s garden delights or fall’s brisk days or winter’s stark beauty?
March is magical in my little world.
How do you mark the year, dear reader? What makes you pause and appreciate all you have?