oh, March

Did you know that spring is coming? I heard it somewhere.

Today I marched through halls with a fresh and still-wrapped stack of blue books in my arms, and I could have sworn people looked at me with respect and a bit of fear. "She must be headed to afflict some poor class with a midterm," I imagined them all thinking. One man in an elevator said something to this effect: I'm not just making it up.

Call me sadistic, but I still really, really love the scratch and rustle of 38 students scribbling out their thoughts on books. And I look forward to reading what they said.

It wasn't just the midterm, though; the light today let me know that it is March. It is March, and spring is coming, and the bulbs are scratching and rustling below the surface of the soil, and breaking through.