When February gives way to March, I get spring fever. A simple change in the calendar has me thinking of biking, golf, gardening, and drifting along the river. I savor the sun as it seems a bit stronger and warmer looking for any sign of the impending change in seasons.
In my search I observe four feet of white wet snow. My driveway looks like a luge track with snow banks hugging an icy ribbon just wide enough for my car.
There are no yarding deer yet, no skunks betraying their presence before I see them, and no foxes running across the icy river searching for food for their young. The bulbs have yet to poke through the snow looking for sunshine and the trees remain in deep sleep without swollen buds.
But it is March and I no longer feel the dark, cold of winter. Instead I am hopeful and continue to search for the signs of spring soon to come.