“The time of the singing of birds,has come.”  It is officially spring.  I do not consult a calendar to know when the seasons change.  I watch the landscape and note the changes.  I understand the science of how humans interpret the arrivals of seasons, but the cherry trees really have “the say”, I think-along with the songbirds.  Blackbirds fly when they ought to and bluebirds set up housekeeping without needing consultation.

Frost covered the fields and pastures this morning, so my geraniums still sit in the windowsill, of the old house at the rabbit patch.  My winter coat remains in a handy location and just might til mid April.  

The purple Martins have yet to return. No other bird sings like the Martins.  Martins winter in South America and there they learn to sing  songs like the tropical birds, with all sorts of trills.  Daddy has had Martin houses…