March will gaslight you. March behaves in ways that make you question your own sanity. Master of deception, it displays signs of promises made last year. To bring warm air, new life of Spring. March has you marching out the door in your shirtsleeves and sandals. It fools you into polishing your bike, your roller blades, fixing a picnic for a day at the beach.
March. Promises, promises. Just when you place your trust in that miserly month, it turns on you. A cold brusque wind picks up, blows from the north scattering your daydreams across land and sea. Dark billowing clouds obliterate a sunny Sunday afternoon outing.
But you’ve known March all of your life. Why do you permit this master of deceit to trick you time and again?
A rhetorical question, of course. Perhaps it’s because Master of Deception March has a lesson for you. (me) One which needs repeating.
As I walked home underprepared, under a cloudy sky, through the bitter wind I swear I heard the Master speak,
“Patience. Patience. Patience, my dear.”
I replied, “Yes, bring summer. Then I promise you patience next year.”