burn

My bursting need to write whenever I have deadlines looming is really annoying. I can't seem to want to write under any other conditions though.

Just a little break now for this morning. I talked to my mom on the phone this morning, and she brought up a little children's ditty. I feel like translating it and putting it here.

March is here, we watch from the window.
Burn the wooden handles of our shovels for fire.

It's simple and trite, I like.