MARCH IN BENSON

On one of the first warm days of March I remember stuffing my pockets with peanuts and grabbing an orange from out of the fruit bowl. I stepped out to stretch my legs along a muddy road between two snow banks. As I walked I dropped peanut shells into puddles to see if they would float like little boats, and I flicked bits of orange peel at the steaming snow banks just for the novelty of seing them contrast with the tired snow. The air blew warm over the fields. Mist rose and settled in the low places. Geese winged a V that pointed compass-true to the north. When my pockets were empty I turned back for home with muddy shoes that would need to be left outside and a heart that was glad for it.