Until the sixteenth century, Europeans celebrated the new year on March 25. Not a bad idea. In March we have robins in the cow pastures and daffodils along the fence lines.
Days are longer.
Buds are budding. I spend most of my working time indoors, but even so this wet winter weather is getting me down. Maybe it's the parlous state of bookselling. Maybe it's the mud in my socks. We need to visit the Bunny Planet.