Lion...

I have lived in New England long enough to know better than to fall for March's games. She is a tricky one this month. She flits back and forth between rising temperatures, letting the mercury reach toward the 50s and 60s, and bone chilling, blustery, snowy days. Sometimes, she can run the gamut in a matter of mere hours.

Last week, we had a day that started out unseasonably warm, with temperatures forecast to plummet by the end of the work day. I had the radio on as I got dressed for work. As I stood in front of my bedroom mirror applying make-up and listening to the forecast, I thought to myself that I'd surely see at least five girls in the office wearing their spring dresses and light-weight coats; leaving scarves, gloves, and wool behind. Even at 7:30am I felt sorry for them as I knew they'd regret their ambitious embrace of the spring thaw.

They did.

Of course, I too have made the same exact mistake, many times over. I've fallen hard for March and her sometimes charming ways. I've eagerly packed up my LL Bean boots and puffy jackets, blissfully assuring myself that flip-flop weather would not be far off. In fact, it was only a few years ago that I finally caught on to what March was all about.

Indecisiveness.

And so the flannel sheets and down comforter remain on my bed for the foreseeable future, my winter coats, gloves, and hats are far from tucked away, every outfit is still planned around tights or leggings, boots, and warm socks. I cautiously heed the forecast warnings, I usually plan for the worst of the temperatures. I am beware the Ides of March.

Still, on Sunday I popped into my neighborhood grocery store to pick up a few small things I needed for the week.

And I left with three extra unplanned items, all of which echoed the quiet rhythm of my heart: spring, spring, spring.

There is technically one more week of winter left on the calendar. Spring is beginning to fight her good fight. We'll see her soon.

Promise.