SUGAR MAPLES IN MARCH by John Grey Cold nights still grip trunks fierce but days are warmer, and when shadows lift, sap rises. The weather is like an unwitting cook following an ancient recipe: freeze then thaw then freeze again. Spikes are hammered into bark. Buckets wait beneath, mouths open. Dregs of gray snow live out their last days. Birds whistle joy at the shape the world is taking. The tapping of the trees is but a modest annotation to great changes coming. And yet, a drop forms at the edge of that iron spigot, eventually falls, hits bottom with a silent ping. Winter can go now. Gyroscope Review - page 2!