Howard knows how to handle depressing overcast March days.
Grey, dreary March. I read of spring in New York, Illinois, Oregon and see only snow, mud and wet manure in my own landscape. This is the hard time, the patient time. I am not a person who waits well. There is, of course, nothing to be done about it. I fret and fuss anyway, complaining to the universe about the mess that is March. And the universe smiles its' lopsided grin and continues as it will.