"March is the daybreak hour of the year.
The face of the earth is still dark but the shadow is lifting....
In the air itself we feel, smell, taste, see a change
as delicate and tentative as it is undeniable and certain.
Though hurled against us by the wind,
its touch is as soft as the wing tips of angels.
It's ethereal warmth, too slight for registry
on the thermometer, seeps through our heavy clothing.
Its fragrance has no name,
being not from anything that is,
but from all that is to come...
March brings a silent ecstasy, a still excitement
matched only by that of a woman
suddenly pausing, hushed, incredulous,
yet sure she feels the first faint,
fluttering motion of a longed-for child."
Gladys Hasty Carroll