I don't know why it always catches me by surprise. The last day of a particular month, the idea that the year is already a quarter of the way into the history books. I never feel like I've done enough, regardless of what I've done. The "unforgiving minute," Kipling called it, and it never quite seems sixty seconds long.
In the month ahead, I've got another overnight paddle - this one going to Anderson Island - with the rest of the Ikkatsu crew, one last run-down of gear and technique before the final plans for the expedition get set in stone. Or in jello, anyway. That will come in the middle of April, then it will be May, and then we'll be leaving. That's how fast the time goes.