It brings me sunshine, it brings me beauty. And perhaps no light is warmer than the one that appears after the cold, no sky bluer than the one washed clean by the last icy rains. March arrives like a promise, like a ray slipping through the shadows of winter.

March is about springs, about all the springs I have left behind. It is about color, about promises, about goodness and renewal. It is about the wind that knows, about the buds that defy winter, and about the scent of earth awakening to life.

But the cold traces remain, silent, reminding me of what I might want to forget: the long nights, the empty roads, the thoughts darkened by frost.

I rise with the wind, carried by unspoken promises.
Somewhere, behind me, I leave the shadows of winter.
The question echoes within me: tell me, tell me,
What is more beautiful—the smile of people? The murmurs of rain?

March urges me to lift my eyes, to take a deep breath, to let myself be carried by the light. It is a new beginning, an open door to spring, to a gentler time, to a different way of seeing the world. What would my color be?

I seek my answer in every flower that dares to bloom, in every branch bending under the weight of its buds. I hear it in the chirping of birds returning home, in the whisper of thawed waters, in my footsteps on the damp earth.

March whispers to me not to fear change, to open my soul like a bud in the sun. To let the light seep in, to paint my days in warm shades, to color my thoughts with hope.

Perhaps the answer is neither in people nor in rain. Perhaps the answer is within me, in the way I choose to see the world, in the way I allow myself to be touched by the beauty of each new beginning. And then, March is not just a month but a promise I make to myself—to be reborn, to shine, to rediscover myself in every spring.