The frozen house fly on the deck outside the back door says it all: March reminds us that it isn't really a summer month. Put away the shorts for another eight or ten weeks.
Gusty winds drive the chill of a day that grudgingly reaches the mid 40s. The sun is strong where you can get into it in the lee of some sheltering object. Leafless hardwoods and stolid evergreens sway above the dun earth. The light drives deep into the forest, spotlighting its suspended animation. By mid week, rain is supposed to mix with snow overnight. No one's talking about accumulation, but it's a complete retreat from the days of summer-like warmth recently departed.
