Friday Ramble - Getting Through March, Sheepishly

March came in like a lioness, and then the lioness stepped away for a few days. In her absence, plucky birds paired off amorously, and village starlings sang merrily, pretending they were robins and enjoying the pretense. It rained, and for a day or two, there was the possibility of a maple syrup run. Thoughts of springtime danced in my sconce, and there were gardening magazines, agricultural annuals, nursery catalogs and seed packets on every surface in the house.

Alas, the halcyon days were brief. Winter made a gleeful return late yesterday, the north wind howling in the rafters and tossing heaps of snow against the doors of the garden shed. There were clouds of blowing snow, and clumps, tumps and desiccated grasses vanished after their fleeting emergence out of the white stuff. Snowdrifts took a deep sigh of relief and stopped melting. Overnight, the village became a sea of ice, and walking this morning is worrisome, downright treacherous.

In other years, migratory birds had returned by now, but Canada geese, ducks, herons and loons will be late coming home this year because there is no open water anywhere and nothing for them to eat. On walks, we listen for them anyway.

What is one to do at such times? I drink copious amounts of espresso and tea. I spend a lot of time reading and scribbling. In the wee hours, I plot new bee gardens and beds of roses, research heirloom vegetables, lay out the design for another quilt. I cultivate forbearance and don't look out the window when snow falls again, hoping ardently that Lady March will get her act together and morph into a lamb, darn it.

At the end of winter, one becomes a tad maudlin. When a friend in the Lanark Highlands told me a few days ago that lambs are now being born in her magnificent old log barn, I was sad. I felt sorry for the poor wee beasties who were coming into the world in such bleak circumstances. What a harrowing start to life.

Enough is enough. Rain would be just fine, and it is certainly easier to shovel than snow. There is one thing about the weather though - night skies are fabulous when they are clear. There are flaming sunsets and moons one can almost reach up and touch, planets dancing in the sky at dusk, dippers of starlight strewn by handfuls from vast, streaming cosmic cauldrons. Simply magnificent.

While I was outside this morning shoveling the veranda, a friend walked by with her Labrador (Sunny) and stopped to talk for a few minutes. We had not seen much of each other in recent weeks, and it was pleasant to stand there (shuffling from foot to foot in the cold) and catch up. I think I can hang in for a while longer.