Wind That Scours the Soul

March is the month for sandblasting the facade.
Any facade will do--rock, bark, leaf, fur, skin, bone--whatever is exposed.
Because this month brings the Vernal Equinox, and is also my birthday month, I always seem to stagger around a bit in March, wind tossed and edgy, harried, ill at ease.
March is a powerful month. Every bit of the natural world is urged into profound change: bird song and budding, tumbling waters and pelting rain, clouds piling higher and higher, capturing wind that urges me forward too, out of my protected places, whether I like it or not.
The tender green leaves unfurl helplessly. But what appears vulnerable at first glance is truly resilient and capable--the leaf gathers what it needs through wind, through sunshine and rain, and nothing can halt its' progress except separation from the source.
These days, at the end of the month, I recognize the value of my "un-ease". Time to grow, time to shed what no longer fits, time to allow a good scouring of all the sources that have become dusty and obscured. March winds begin the process, my heart picks up the cadence.
Finally I can stride into April.