March and April are cruel months. By now, the novelty of winter has faded, the cold trembles our bones, and the paucity of sunlight drapes us in a blood-deep mental cloud. Spring has become a wicked mirage and we curse our position on the globe relative to the sun. We stand in silent (and ridiculous!) protest by refusing to make any meaningful action until such action can be done outside, in our Bermudas, with a cold lager in our hands.