Waiting

 

Morning and evening, all of March, out before dawn and again in the thickening dark-after-dusk.

Listening.

Waiting.

Mentally cursing the endless, noisy traffic that drowns out all but the loudest sounds.

No voices raised in discordant courtship. No whistling feather-tweets of love.

Until this morning.

There was dog walking and an early Song Sparrow, commencing Dawn Chorus with a song.

Put the dog inside and sneaked back out, just for a little while.

Venus hovered on the eastern horizon as she has for lo, these many weeks. Grey clouds crept across a sinking orange moon and gathered it into the coming storm.

But hark! What twitters in the eastern sky!

The first American Woodcock of the season, proclaiming his love for all to listen.

I rejoiced at this magical note of spring, then gathered my coffee from the kitchen and sat in my outdoor office for an hour, listening for the day to begin. (Office consists of a metal lawn chair, an upturned stainless steel milk house bucket as a footstool, and something to set my coffee cup on, pointed at the best spots to see or hear birds).

It's official. Spring is really here.