Spring doesn’t knock. It sweeps in.
One day the air is still. The next, there’s a shift, something restless moving through the trees, cutting through jackets, sneaking in through open windows.
In Classical Chinese Medicine, this isn’t poetic language. It’s diagnosis.
Wind is the carrier of illness, and March is when it wakes.
The ancient healers understood something we’ve largely forgotten: the best time to defend yourself isn’t when you’re already under siege. It’s before the winds change direction.