I have been grossly neglecting March! I put it down to the weather, which has, with gray cold precipitationness, induced ennui and despair. At last, yesterday brought balmy sunshine. Spring, you know, is when a not-as-young-as-I-might-once-have-been person’s thoughts turn to words:

psittacism, n.[‘ The mechanical repetition of previously received ideas or images, without true reasoning or feeling; repetition of words or phrases parrot-fashion; an instance of this.’]

(Refraining from pointed political commentary.) From OED WOTD