I’ve never cared much for March, an opinion formed in my young adulthood, when I lived in Chicago and became acquainted with the unique form of misery known as a Windy City Spring. March was when the snow melted and you started to see what was lurking underneath. March was known for winds so strong that ropes were strung across open plazas so you could hold on while trudging your way to the bank or bookstore.

But in recent years I’ve been mellowing on March. Global warming may have something to do with it. Or living in the mid-Atlantic. Or perhaps greater tolerance. Whatever the case, I’ve come to understand the unique advantages of a month that can offer you snowstorms and cherry blossoms in one day. I’ve come to admire the variety and bluster of the month.

One word of caution, however. I came up with this post idea while strolling through a drop-dead gorgeous March afternoon yesterday. Every bush and tree seemed to shimmer with seasonal cheer, with growth and forward motion. It was divine. But it’s the 27th. It’s easy to see the advantages of March when it’s almost April. The moral of this story? Beware of revisionist thinking — especially at the end of the month.