Next year I’m going to try to notice when the birds stop singing in the morning. Some days, in the dead of winter, are there no bird sounds at all?
They’ve come back now. It sounds like spring. Even the light on the snow looks a little bit like spring: a mounded-up snow pile drenched-in-cold-rain sort of spring.
Other people are happy about this. I love spring too, but in its good time. A big snowstorm, as my daughter observed the other day, helps us give up our illusion that we can control nature. We curl up inside, make a fire. The storm gives us permission to read a book, or take a nap.
In spring, there’s the garden to turn over, seeds to plant, exerting our will on nature all over again.
I like the birds and the light, but my will to control is still resting. I’m hoping for more snow on Thursday.