We always get snow in March. At least it seems. Tonight we're watching snow blow around, unsure whether it will stay or go. Just days ago it was nearly Spring. The Robins stood in the road this morning, casting a doubtful daze upward. As if begging for logic or a little bird sweater, oblivious to the angry hum of a cold engine approaching. Tonight my family is curled up, cozy in this 1790s era farmhouse. Grateful. Warm. Fed. In love.