Indoors or out, no one relaxes in March, that month of wind and taxes, the wind will presently disappear, the taxes last us all the year.

Nash wryly captures March as a month that offers little respite: even if the weather turns pleasant, the season is still defined by bluster and by the looming burden of tax time. The joke hinges on contrast and timing—wind is temporary, but taxes linger—turning a commonplace complaint about early-spring weather into a broader satire of civic obligations. The line also reflects Nash’s characteristic domestic, middle-class viewpoint: relaxation is not simply a matter of being indoors or out, but of being free from nagging practical pressures. The humor is light, but the sting is real: nature’s inconveniences pass; bureaucratic ones endure.