It was the end of March. Even though the weather hadn’t warmed noticeably at this elevation, the winter buds had begun to swell on the oaks, giving them the quality of knots in fine lace against the gray overcast. Related Posts:March, March, all the day, Winds of March, please…It was a bright spring morning, full of promise.…March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between…Even though I’m bitter over losing, even though I’m…