Beware the Ides of March

Plains people aren’t easily fooled by a little “pretty.” Maybe it’s because we can see so far across the flatlands, especially in winter, that we see trouble & bad weather coming long before they arrive.

So when a flock of redwing blackbirds gathered yesterday for a quick migratory meeting in the farmyard, I wasn’t fooled by their cantata of clicks, trills, and multi-note whistles, by their tawdry red and yellow wing bars, or by their jovial flitting about. I know, like most South Dakotans, that you can’t trust avian choirs, 70-degree days, or even the sudden greening of road ditches. Not in March. Maybe not in April either. So here’s a cautionary poem, a reminder to keep the Uggs & parka handy by the back door…

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.