At least, up here in the north it is.
And, you know, I kind of love that about March.
February is so dependably endless and cold, and while there's comfort in that last, long meditation of winter, I always realize how much I've missed the turbulence of spring.
A good reminder to be oneself, despite the disturbance it might cause, despite the squalls that may follow.
Occasionally, our boots must, I think, get stuck in the mud one day, snow the next, just to remind us of where we stand.