March, according to weather-obsessed aphorists, comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb. It's a quaint zoological simile describing the long-awaited transition from biting winds to balmy breezes, from predatory winter to frolicsome spring.
But it's the middle of the month already, and so far this March has been nothing but sunless tundra and relentless cold with no sign of those promised green shoots or pastel blossoms. I guess that proverbial lamb is still just a twinkle in its currently impotent father's eye.
Apparently, this particular March wants to provide a showcase for all kinds of inclement weather. Indeed, I'm typing in the middle of what the news insists on calling "Storm Stella," a fearsome mix of snow, sleet, freezing winds, and, to add insult to injury, probably even a block of frozen urine falling from a passing plane destined for sunnier climes.
Which, since we're on the subject of animal similes, is enough to make you as mad as, well, as mad a March hare I suppose. In fact, so blustery and turbulent are current conditions that you might reasonably claim this particular March has arrived like a rabid dog and will eventually exit like a hyena.
It is so extremely soul destroying for we sun-worshippers because, as I recall, last March came in like an ostrich and left like a kangaroo. Such a pleasant antipodean experience was, despite being highly unusual for the time of the year, a lot more bearable that today's grueling arctic extravaganza as you might imagine.
I had hoped those mild temperatures were indicative of an annual warming trend in New England. Rising sea levels are, after all, a small price to pay for being able to bar crawl in nothing but a light jacket on Saint Patrick's Day, I'm sure you will agree. But, alas, it appears to be not the case.