IT is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field. . .

~ Excerpt from TO MY SISTER, by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

To Frank I woke and said, Happy first day of March! February is behind us. It was a pleasant rain on the river, and puddles or rainwater on the snow and ice. A day of rain cleaning up the snow for spring to come. I felt so cheerful as I sloshed along. All the wood, the roots and broken branches were rain-drenched and rich with color. Today I accomplished so much; I had a plenitude of energy to start the week. And I sent my monthly newsletter, and I worked on a poem from the letters. I had one already done; but decided to work on another. And tonight, in workshop, I sat on my couch and we all shared our poems, and I saw the waning moon, bright light above a heap of clouds, and the wind began howling, and then the cloud obscured the light, and the more wind, and then the moon again, and the poems shared were so good; and I was glad I brought the one I did. And pleased that I have made good progress on getting the letters photographed and uploaded. The wind wants to blow March loudly in tonight. There were songbirds, outside the window I opened last night. The first thing I heard this morning; welcome sound.