Spring is in the air. I can smell it. I can hear it. I heard a robin singing this morning--no worms yet for this early bird--but it's here, its feathers fluffed with the cold, its song clear and strong. And the striking red cardinals are whistling their hearts out, happy about the coming of spring.
The sound of spring I remember most is that of melt water trickling through a stone pile in a gully in the big field just north of our old farm house. On a snow melting day I'd mush my way out to the field, sometimes with my dad, sometimes alone, and just stand there, listening. It was a tinkling sound, like that of a breeze teasing a glass chandelier. Subtle but definite. A sure sign that spring was just around the corner, although we often couldn't yet see the corner.
The Old Timer says: "A long cold winter helps us appreciate so much more the other three seasons of the year."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Uncle Cliff (he is 92 years old) says it will snow three times on the robin after he comes back in the spring.
Post a Comment