Visiting Florida in mid-March gave me a foretaste of spring. The rainy season down there is long past, and the Everglades are drying up; birds have to drink at alligator holes, and that’s a tad dangerous. So they fly north. And here in the Northeast, the forsythia and daffodil are yellow and out, and you can see bugs crawling over this crop of flowers, and a few migrating birds are already here gobbling and singing and dreaming of a mate and a nest further north in Canada. The contract is renewed; as everybody knows, life goes on.