March does not have and never did have 32 days. Being caught with my head in the clouds and my pants down, I don't have much planned for the moment, save for an a propos bit by Emily Dickinson:
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – should I forget
Some one the sum could tell
–This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.