The Quality of Light

The quality of light these days may kill me with its beauty. And that's exactly how I'd like to go.

I'm not sure what it is about March but this is my favourite time of year - other than May, which is obviously wonderful. The difference is, in March every good thing is a gift and not an expectation or a right. I started dating Dave in March, my daughter was born in March. March is a month of promise and surprise. March is filled with new fresh smells and cool winds. Everything good in the year is ahead and about to open up. I think it's kind of like how Thursday is my favourite day of the week: because there is a sense of anticipation about the weekend. You can stay up late on Thursday night because if you're tired on Friday, you can shrug and realize it's only a few hours until the weekend. That's March. When I tell people it's my favourite month, they shake their heads and say, "Oh, it's still winter. It can still snow." Of course it can, but it's the kind of winter you can shrug off usually. In March, people re-emerge from hibernation to walk and talk in the neighbourhood. People stop looking askance at me for riding my bicycle. We pull out and refill the basketball net. We set up the clothes line again. We barbecue. We leave windows open.

What's not to love about March?

Yesterday I walked on the golf course I've skied all winter. In a warm week, it has transformed from ski course to golf green and puddles. I must love March if I'm willing to say goodbye to skiing. Last night, I put away the rows of skis, shovels and hockey sticks on our front porch and brought out the box of basketballs and skipping ropes.

But it's the quality of light most of all - the thin, bright, strengthening sunlight that starts before I wake up and lasts until well after supper. That's what is killing me most. In such a good way.