Lighthearted

Somehow the subtle joys of of March creep up on you. Just as you’re trudging along, brooding about the approaching baseball season and the new income-tax forms and other trials of spring, it suddenly becomes apparent that the sun is rising earlier and setting later, and that the days are growing appreciably longer. It’s March, and the light is glorious.

As we left work at 6 p.m. the other day we realized, with a sharp stab of pleasure, that the sun had not yet set. So we luxuriated in the fading daylight and scurried home to check the Old Farmer’s Almanac. Sure enough, it turns out that there is almost an hour and a half more daylight in mid-March than in mid-February; by the end of the month we’ll have two more hours of sunshine daily than we had on Feb. 1. At no other time of year do the days stretch out at such a rapid pace.

The poets are more likely to celebrate showy months like April and May, with their showers and flowers. But we’ll take March. If the sun is already up by the time we pick up our morning newspaper and sticks around to greet us at the end of the workday, who could ask for more?