March has toddled in on unsteady steps. Yes, it’s Tuesday, March 1, 2022 already. Weirdly, I keep wanting to write 2023. Maybe it’s a subconscious desire to just leap this year.

Glorious sunshine spangled the clouds, trees, and mountains in the early going. Temperature was already up to 51 F — 55 now — and we’re probably going to reach 67 F. Went up the road to Medford yesterday for shopping and saw 72 F, according to the car. Didn’t feel like it, though. Felt more like 68.2.

Clouds have massed, a demonstration against too much sunshine, a vow to deliver rain somehow, somewhere, on someone. Sunrise kicked in at 6:46 AM. We’ll ride the rays until 6:01 PM, when they take their leave and wave good-bye.

War and politics rule the news. Coronavirus and pandemic, anti-vaxxers and anti-maskers supplanted by real matters of freedom as Russia plays like the USSR to use tank diplomacy to achieve its goals.

I was out walking in Ashland’s downtown area on Main Street yesterday, visiting the library, picking up more to read which they’d put on hold for me. Was wonderful to have a light, cool breeze flirting with me as sunshine warmed my bod. The neurons summoned Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band singing “Mainstreet” from 1977 as I walked. But when the turns carried me to Sixth Street, the neurons pivoted to the Wallflowers and “Sixth Avenue Heartache” (1996). The latter was the last song standing in this morning’s mental music stream, so here we are.

Stay positive (yes, I know, it’s asking a lot with all the vectors of buffeting), test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the song. I’m pursuing my destiny with a cup of coffee. Cheers