It's the Ides of March, and it's been in the 70's here in South Dakota the past few days. The crocus, daylillies, and chives are coming up, the robins and redwing blackbirds are back, my grass greened practically overnight, and I saw my first cardinal today. But this ultra-spring weather isn't fooling me. Prairie people know better than to rip the Mortite putty off the windows too soon. So here's my annual cautionary "Ides of March" poem, lest we get too lax...
THE IDES OF MARCH
The seer was right to warn us,
beware the ides of March.
It's a dangerous time, peering
through iced windows at the jeweled
tease of crocus and daffodil.
We've weathered another season
of deep-freeze, locked up tight
in muscle and mind. We're tired
of winter's grey and gritty leftovers.
But this is no time to get careless,
toss a floorboard heater through
the beveled glass and go out,
where Spring flashes her flannel petticoat
embroidered in pinks and greens,
leaves us gaping, breathless,
in air still cold as a knife blade,
stripping off the down.