It may technically be the “Spring Semester,” but it is still the first of March. Astronomical Spring doesn’t arrive until three weeks from now, and true run-outside-with-friends-and-a-frisbee Spring is generally even more delayed than that.
Of course, you didn’t need me to tell you. It’s snowing out, and the forecast calls for (let me check) eight to twelve inches of snow by Monday night. In December, this would be thrilling. At the moment, it seems to be the heavy icing on top of an enormous, bitter cake of academic obligations (metaphor!).
So people are wearing thin. My back is tight and stiff from collected stress. People are sick, tired, unhappy. The sun rises and sets unnoticed, but we can’t ignore the turn of the clock.
We need each other. More than any other time of year, late February and early March are oppressive. We need the company of our friends. Gush and complain and laugh and waste some time. Not too much time; you have work to do. But it’s not yet Spring and we need our friends.
So, here’s a poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay:
Pile high the hickory and the light
Log of chestnut struck by the blight.
Welcome in the winter night.
The day has gone in hewing and felling,
Sawing and drawing the wood to the dwelling
For the night of talk and story-telling.
These are the hours that give the edge
To the blunted axe and the bent wedge,
Straighten the saw and lighten the sledge.
Here are question and reply,
And the fire reflected in the thinking eye.
So peace, and let the bob-cat cry.”
-Edna St. Vincent Millay