Hermes's Den

March is one of those months of such certain unsteadiness. Growing up, I always loved that it comes “in like a lion, out like a lamb,” and wished my own bonny month of May had a phrase of the kind. Now, I see its persistent drive as one for using the growing light to situate the spring and summer months before they come to pass. While the rivers are still chilled is the time to chart where you’ll go when they thaw. With as much I want to do this year, and how much change I must court to see it come to pass, I continue to remind myself that the great business of completing things isn’t accomplished in one stride; it’s a compilation of tiny actions—not steps, which has a linear connotation, but actions, that move forward, back, and around—that add up to a larger whole.

Nearing the end of this winter and giving thanks for its strange weather, all cold, and dry, and late, I’m inclined to remember the layering that bookends the extremes. Thank you, Winter, for the long nights swaddled in two, three, four items and loss of identity the price of protection from the cold. I still haven’t gotten around to getting gloves, but I’ve managed.

This winter, I leaned into stark colors, the sober darkness of pants pants and steady brown of knitwear, the bright light reflections of my jacket, and, above and below it all like veins threading a body together, the blood red of my scarf and boots. Staring down the outsides, I would engage in the ritual of wrapping, tucking, and zipping until I emerged into the frost as a scarlet faced knight, only my eyes exposed to the elements. How much fun it is to watch the world pass by while swaddled to the nose.

What I’ll miss about winter dressing is what I’ll welcome about spring; light layers, and a return to a diverse color pallet rich in green. I’m ready to leave my winter uniforms behind and step into the spring and summer adventuring clothes, more ready for wherever I’ll trek this during the height of summer, and ready most of all to step into the fullness of life.