from Great Expectations by Charles Dickens


For there was something very comfortable in having plenty of stationery. p 293

Dear March,

I feel that I should be blunt with you, in much the same way that your wind is so fierce and biting. My face and hands were red when I stepped out this morning to walk the dog.

I know, I know. I should be thankful that I can go out in the evening, that the sun is still shining. And I am, believe me. Driving home after work my spirits lift to see that the sun is still in the sky; that the days of squinting in the dark after a long day at work are over—for now. But I am really ready to be done with the mittens and the hats and the scarves. I love the layered look—but it is so last season. Call me scandalous and shocking, but I am ready for a skirt without leggings. Sure my legs are pale, but they will stay that way if the temps never climb and I have to keep them hidden.

And it is obvious that friends of mine are feeling a bit depressed as well. You would think that January and February are the bad months. But honestly, we don’t have many expectations for them. But you March, you conjure up images of green. Green everywhere and flowers peeking through. At my house it is still white white, white. And I see those snowflakes in the 10 day forecast. Enough I say.

Where are your warm winds so that I may fly my kite?

So what am I doing to combat this injustice? How nice of you to ask. Never let it be said you aren’t caring and considerate, that must be the more lamblike side of your nature.

First of all, I am reading in bed in the morning. I asked M if he would bring me a coffee in bed yesterday after he fed the dogs so I could read more Great Expectations. I tell you it was like Christmas. I felt like I had won the lottery.

I’m reading books I want to read. I’m writing letters. I reached out to someone online and asked if she’d read a book with me. Bold move, right? My sister-in-law sent us a typewritten letter and talked a bit about politics and her new found desire to get involved. Another friend wrote because he was traveling to Japan and had news to share. A letter can be more intimate than an email or a phonecall. Reaching out that way involves putting pen to paper and sitting with your thoughts.

Which is why I’m writing to you, this way, March. I know that state of the world is looking bleak, but it’s not me, it’s definitely you here. I don’t know what more you could do to make it better or make it up to. But couldn’t you at least try?

In the words of one of the most well-known movies in the cold weather oeuvre: “Let it go.”


~More in love with May

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