Today has been the first noticeably lighter 7AM walk. The dead of winter has passed, and though you wouldn’t know it from the tree branches, you can hear it in the bird calls.

Recently I’ve had some run-in’s with bird call curiosity. It turns out, that if you sit and listen to separate bird calls, it’s quite easy to identify the basics. I’m not entirely sure that there is any higher purpose to the identification than the satisfaction of the discovery. Though I wonder if sometimes the birds respond to human interpretations of their calls.

When I get back to Seattle I’m going to have to make a point to listen to city bird calls, because all I’ve ever really paid attention to are these Virginia woods. Memories of bird feeders with charts taped to the window: tufted titmice, warblers, hummingbirds and whatnot. And how the squirrels ended up ruining the party every time.
Meanwhile, we had a false start to spring last week, and as a result I see that the daffodil shoots have sprouted. These early harbingers of seasonal shifting are so gullible - this happens every year. Somehow they manage to stick it out until the real spring, where their warm tones bounce off the forsythias across the field, sprinkled by the dogwood blossoms in the background.

If I remember correctly - and there’s little chance of that - it is around this time that the cardinals and the blue jays take over.

My hair has frozen stiff, reminding me that this is all yet to arrive. Time to go inside and thaw, which I know I can do much faster than the ground.