March begins with low skies and sodden soil, with raindrops pinging puddles. The ground is full of water; it can hold no more. But still the rain falls. It follows the snow and the sleet and the freezing rain, all of which left their mark. 

Last night’s drops drummed the roof. This morning’s precipitation ventures forth more vaguely. Will it shower? Will it drizzle? Perhaps it will remain indecisive — and mizzle.

In the meantime, moisture pools on sidewalks, beads on branches, saturates the air with mist and haze. If today were to dress for the weather, it would need a poncho and galoshes. 

Welcome, March. I hope you brought an umbrella.