a sunday in march (lyn)

March might be my least favorite month.  It's a month that is caught between seasons, no longer winter but not quite spring.  I suppose the same is true of September, but there, you teeter on the cusp of beautiful weather.  March is generally not like that.  It can be cold, but not that crisp, freeing cold of a December’s day.  Or, it can be lukewarm and rainy.  Another bad thing about March is the need to recognize another birthday.  I wish birthdays could be celebrated without the aging part associated with it.  Oh, and you lose an hour of time in March. Regardless of the reason, I don't like the concept of an hour of life disappearing, even if it re-emerges in November.  And finally, because of the weather's volatility (it was almost 70 on Thursday, then  30 on Friday), you never know how to dress. 


Today looks sunny and I choose my black nylon coat, the one I bought at Maxwell’s last summer.  I walk out the door and immediately know I've chosen wrong.  I should have stuck with a winter coat.  But I'm running late and don't have time to turn back.

I'm walking down the street on my way to the subway.  I’m going to see an off-Broadway play, Flight.  Suddenly I hear a tiny voice behind me say, “I like that dress.”  I turn around and a mother is pushing a bundled-up three-year old boy in a stroller.  I smile, thinking he’s commented on a dress in one of the store windows he’s just passed.  But I’m wrong.  The mother says, “He likes your coat.”   Suddenly the day is brighter.  How strange that a compliment, regardless of its source, can make me feel lighter.