Songbird of Spring

Song outside. Spring bird. Can’t see, only heard. Sound signals coming season.  

Know nothing important about birds but I know that’s the song of a spring bird. How do I know that and where was that bird all winter? Do I recognize this song because of its absence long? I never awoke and noticed no birds singing when Autumn gave way to Winter.

The bird didn’t disappear, not from the planet. Its song was gone, though, its season too. Instinctively it has returned.

People have these same instincts, it’s not just the bird. We may not sing when the snow thaws, but we change. Winter habits get stowed with heavy coats; old ones return masquerading in the openness of seasonal newness.

One day not long ago, the first pure scent of clean coming snow (we all know it but can’t quite describe it) filled nostrils and winter nights spent inside with a craving for fleece and heavier meals became the natural response. And now, Spring arrives with warmth, songbirds, and women walking the avenues noticeably unbundled. The winter obfuscated; it did not do away with life as normal. 

Now, we welcome earlier sunrises, later sunsets. More day to work with. These signs join the birds in marking the new season. Spring reintroduces itself before becoming summer’s harbinger.

The new season creeps up, not to surprise. Incremental change. Week by week, the warmth rises only to be drawn back behind the curtains of rain and cold til they are fully drawn.

One day you will feel a sweat-beaded brow brewing under evening sun, spot the time, and realize even this season that seemed so new just moments ago will give way to merciless heat.

Not yet. For now, the songbird signals spring, and spring it will be. Welcome warmth, showers, gardens misty wet with rain like a Van Morrison song. Spring.