March has never been my favorite month. I can think of at least one occasion, early in this blog’s history, when I slandered it mightily, and I’m sure there are others.

March is fickle, March is erratic. You can’t count on March for much of anything …. except variety.

So why have I, lover of variety and change and novelty, turned my back on this month? Because it can be the dregs of winter and only a tease of spring, for starters. I’ve had my reasons and they’ve been good ones.

But after decades of living in Virginia, I’ve come to terms with March. The climate has warmed and flowers and trees bloom for most of the month. Forsythia, cherries, Bradford pears, flowering quince, snow drops, daffodils, hyacinths, and sometimes, as we close in toward April, the first violets.

Yesterday I walked the Turquoise Trail, and thought about this month, the only one named for a walking step. That alone is reason to celebrate. So here, on the twenty-sixth day of thirty-one, I raise my glass, my cup of tea, to March.