In Like a Lamb

By | March 4, 2021
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In Like a Lamb

The wet, freezing, morose winds of winter must have eyes and those eyes must have been looking at a calendar because, on the first day of March, those harsh winds of winter ceased, and March came in like a lamb.

The walks and ways and forest trails that were just last week buried under a foot or more of snow are now clear and dry and ready for walking, and biking, and the laughter of children playing in the still-chilly March air.

March, where I live, is a cruel month. And just because it came in like lamb does nothing to change my opinion of this wicked mistress of months. The sunny days that have persisted since the first day of March, don’t fool me. I know better. And though I am loath to use a cliché, I will anyway.

The worst may well be yet to come.

I saw many people in the park yesterday, musing on benches, walking dogs, and watching their small children play on the swings and monkey bars. Where were they a week ago while I trudged knee-deep in snow, out-of-breath, gasping from the exertion? Walking through snow over a foot deep is not easy – it’s like walking through shallow quicksand.

While I slogged, gasping, through snow up to my knees, the deserted park mocked and echoed my heavy breathing… and the crunch of my steps through the snow.

But yesterday the park was full of people enjoying the spring-like weather, some even ditched their winter coats and accouterments. Not me. I sweated in my downy winter coat. I eventually unbuttoned it because I was sweating in the early-March sun.

March, being a fickle femme – sorry ladies – is just as capricious as she is fickle, scuttled the sunny spring days and today is cloudy, windy, and cold. Not winter-cold, mind you, but cold. It’s twenty-five degrees colder than it was yesterday and the winds are bending the bare, skeletal trees, all still sleeping and waiting for spring.

Trees, unlike people, are not fooled by an out-of-place springlike day in the first week of March. They know better. You’d think people would too. Bur people, unlike trees, have something called optimism. After a year of a pandemic and a long, dark, snowy winter, who can blame anyone for a little sunny optimism?

I’ll be back out there today, fending off the chilly March wind, hoping the gray sky won’t decide to spray a chilly rain down upon me. And I’ll walk the sidewalks and trails and I’ll pass through the park that just yesterday was alive and full of laughter and chatter and find nothing but brittle barren trees and the ever-chilling sound of an unrelenting early-March wind.

March can’t fool me. I’m too old for that. Too many decades have passed in my life for me to be optimistic about the wicked, fickle, crazy month of March.

And just because March came in like a lamb does not guarantee it will go out like a lion – although I would not doubt that it will. The end of March is not much different than the beginning as all the winter things are still very much in play: The snow; the cold; the wind; the eternal universal yearning for a better tomorrow.

The park and the trail today will be lonely and quiet. I will see no bicyclers, no dog walkers, no children on roller skates, no skateboarders, no old couples moseying along holding hands enjoying the respite from the cruelty of winter.

Plutarch, the soothsayer, warned Julius Caesar to “beware the ides of March”. I’m not a soothsayer but I warn everyone to beware of the cruel capriciousness of March.

Whether March goes out like a lion or not, it came in like a lamb. And for that I am thankful. But I’m not naive enough to believe winter is over – that we’re done with the snow – or the brutal winds – or the biting cold. The one positive thing about March is that it is a bridge to April and April is the rainbow bridge to summer.

And when I see the darling buds of May appearing on the trees along the wooded trail, I will know spring has come and the stage is finally set for summer. And I’ll look back at the fickle month of March and I’ll be glad it came and even gladder that it is gone.

This year March came in like a lamb, and whether it does out like a lamb or a lion makes no difference to me. The days are getting longer, the nights are getting shorter, and spring is surely on the way. But it will not come in March as the calendar says, but it will come, nonetheless.

I know it will.

6 thoughts on “In Like a Lamb

  1. Tami B.

    Love this one. You write very well. March is such a tease, isn’t it?

  2. Helen Arano

    I enjoy reading all of your thoughts. Sometimes I pass them on for others to enjoy and recommend cloudeight to them.
    Thank you, Helen

  3. Darlene Anderson

    TC, you have awakened a very old bug in my system. When I was younger, I loved to write. I had dozens of pen pals as a middle ager. After I retired, I thought I wanted to write children’s books, but the cobwebs of daily life wound themselves around my lazy “what-ifs” and I wrote nothing more than grocery lists. Then I ran into your wonderful musings several years ago. I loved them and felt the old interest begin to stir–but again life got in the way. Sold a house, bought a house, rescued a dog, buried a dog, took on an ex-mother-in-law as her care-giver from age 92 to 99–only wrote Christmas letters.

    But now I think of your musings as I drive, knowing at 87 my years of driving are probably going to end pretty soon. I let my thoughts ramble like your writing, taking verbal pictures of the road as I go. New snow on the Olympic mountains paints a jagged profile in the west. I think of all the times I’ve seen this view as I top the ridge with Silverdale and the inlet below. My heart is happy. I hear myself telling my son that I can’t trade the woods and the mountains of the Northwest for the desert of Palm Springs.

    I smile. My mind cannot maintain a train of thought. It’s constantly being derailed by some other fleeting thought I have a busy, busy mind. But I think I’ll try to reign it in one of these days and get back to writing about this beautiful country. And I will owe it all to you TC.

  4. Darlene Anderson

    Apologies for the missing period in the next to the last line. “Thought” is the last word in the sentence and I thought I saw a period. Not.


  5. Patricia McCosker

    You may not believe this but I think it is wonderful for you to live in a country where you have 4 distinct changes of seasons to like or not like. Where I live in the sub tropics our winters are mild maybe a bit like your summers and our summers are hot . hot, hot..and not much change from one to the other.
    I think I would enjoy your summer ,fall, winter and spring…maybe just once!!

  6. Maxine Hunt

    I also live where March is cruel and deceiving. In April of 2019, I think, we had 11 inches of snow! But before that approximately 7-8 years or more, we opened the pool in March after ‘she’ convinced us that 80 degree weather was here to stay (at least for the next few short months). Indeed, we did have an early and blissfully long summer that year.
    Two years later the same pool needed a new liner so in May, on a day that reached 90 degrees, we replaced it, sweating and congratulating ourselves that we had accomplished this task early enough in Spring to capture every hot summer moment. Ah-hah, ‘she’ had us again! We barely reached 80 degrees on just a few days that entire season!
    Still, I’d rather live here and take my chances each year whether in flip-flops or galoshes than bake in blistering heat that renders the outdoors unbearable in Summer.


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