There are still geese departing. I heard them fly while the wind was filling the canyon nearby but leaving us alone. Over there, the frogs continue to croak nightly. There were no stars tonight. The rain ceases for awhile, then sprinkles a few drops, then stops again, hour after hour. The matted moss covering the mulberry's trunk drips constantly. The moss is almost visible now, as gray light grows. The first birds are singing, the crows are cawing as they fly from pine to pine, and the wind has stilled. I realize how little remains of March, and am surprised. Who let time run away?