March 1st has always been the first day of Spring for me.

Not astronomically. Not technically. Simply.

March, April, May — three months. One Season.
June, July, August — Summer.
September, October, November — Autumn.
December, January, February — Winter.

Four Seasons. Three equal months each. Clean. Understandable. No misunderstandings. No negotiating with it.

That calendar has served well for a very long time.

There was a time — and it does not seem so very far away — when the rest of life followed that same rhythm without effort.

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