THE FLAVOR OF THE MONTH- MARCH

Like any revolution, March is messy. When I lived in Vermont, March was the month when Winter, the old tyrant, finally started to lose its grip, and Spring began its uprising. The swollen streams would surge along past flooded fields like a raucous, peasant rabble, and the exiled robins returned to pull worms from the mud and prophesy the coming day of liberation.

It rained.

In March, winter became more cruel as all despots will when faced with being ousted. Warm days, when the snowbank steamed, were followed by snow and the sort of cold that felt like a brutal crackdown. Slush and mud took the place of gore on the battlefield of March. Spring always won in the end, of course, it always does, but victory wouldn't come until April. March was always the last, miserable gasp of Winter's reign.