There is something about March. The birds sound different. The days are longer and the air smells of wet dirt, as a promise of things that will grow here soon. The sky is a particular hue of blue, sky is this kind of blue only in March. The seed packets in my hands around the same, a rattle of small speks, like a whisper of hope. The same sound, but a more urgent call. The seeds are ready to give way, to start a new journey, to awake from rest, to be something else, to die, to give, to be. It is March, my friend, we made it through another winter. Will you take this journey with me? To be more, to grow, to awake, to be. Come along!