Each year at this time, I write about the swing of our northern winter towards spring. And so it was that last week, as I gazed out my window at the bird feeder, I noticed countless chickadees, titmice and finches vying for a spot, flying in and out at close quarters, regardless of those already crowded there. Two bluebirds appeared on the porch rail. Squirrels acted as if they been let out for recess, chasing each other up and down tree trunks, leaping from branch to branch, playing tag. The earth was still wrapped in its blanket of snow; not a blade of grass showing. Looking closely, however, I could see the hint of bright yellow appearing on a male goldfinch, the one my granddaughter named, so aptly, the Highlighter Bird. A first promise of spring. Today, just one week later, the snow is fast melting, a song sparrow cheeps in the bush and we have gone outside, coatless.
Reminded by daily news bulletins about innumerable crises, as fear is disseminated and anxiety rises, we are all too often prone to plunge into a despair that life as we know it will never be the same. And it may not. But that doesn’t mean that the earth will stop spinning.
It’s easy to forget that all around us natural rhythms proceed as they always have. If you’re out for a stroll or a roll, look up at a tree. Look at the red clusters of not-yet maple leaves on the branches. Peer closely into a vernal pool. You might see the first sign of skunk cabbage greening in the muddy water or hear an early spring peeper in the evening. Beside your front door or as you pass by a neighbor’s house, you might see tender blades of coming daffodils pushing through. Haven’t you heard the woodpecker tap-tap-tapping for bugs on a tree? Noticed the breeze a bit softer on your face from time to time?
Look to the trees, the animals, the grasses; listen for the cardinal’s spring song and see the fiddlehead ferns unfurl for evidence that our planet obeys its own calendar. Soon flowers will bloom, a robin will lay her eggs, streams will flow faster and fuller from the winter’s melt.
Hope is out there. Stop, look and listen.
