Today the robins came. Can spring be far behind? The snow recedes more and more everyday; patches of brown, water-clogged earth showing through. The house drips with the moisture of two storms worth of snow returning to liquid form. The bushes, long pressed by the weight of the whiteness, shrug their shoulders and the snow slumps off with a thud. The bushes shudder and rise, they are resilient and they will return to their bushiness after a while. They are glad to be free.
Today the sky is gunmetal gray with some paleness intermixed. It is the backdrop of winter, framed by the skinny, scraggly, naked branches of a thousand and one trees. The sun struggles, shining its wan rays weakly here and there, noncommittal, inconstant. My face feels gray, my soul is wan, weak with the pressing winter, longing for color and warmth.
But the robins were here today. They hopped and flitted about in my yard, their ruddy breasts plumped out, their charcoal wings lifting them up to rest now in the holly tree, now in a bush, now in the hill in the neighbor's yard. They twittered and chattered, chirping and flapping; busy pecking and prodding for seeds or a tasty grub- something to fill their stomachs. Their busyness brought life to this cold street, this winter deadened place with no green or life showing. They gladdened my heart with their self-important hopping and pecking. They stayed all morning then moved on to bring their friendly chatter to another yard. I think a little warmth entered my heart, suffused by a flutter of wings, harbingers of spring.
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If this was on Facebook, I would click the "like" button.
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