March is my favorite month in North Carolina, because unlike in Minneapolis and Chicago and even Baltimore, spring actually happens here in March. There’s cold days, and there’ll be another cold snap, probably, but the sun starts to shine and the flowers start to bloom and winter starts to retreat, and it all makes me hopeful and warm.
Two of winter fading, two of spring on its way.
I’m re-reading Tam Lin for the millionth time, and it’s making me sentimental about Keats, and Christopher Fry, and my college career, all of which are subjects by which I am generally perturbed; I will likely go back to being perturbed about Keats, because I’ve never understood him, and my college career, because none of your fucking business that’s why, afterwards, but Fry. Fry might do well for the spring.