The sun has just made it over the hill up the road from the cottage. Yellow-gold light is now varnishing the high tops of the tall sycamores on the island. There's not a cloud in the sky and the weatherman says we'll reach 77˚F this afternoon!
What a glorious day!
I've been up since 4:45, took Moon-the-Dog out, made coffee for me, tea for Mylady, fixed our breakfast, and by 6:00 a.m. was here, at my desk, plugging away at the first draft of a column. It was still dark beyond the window, but even so, the robins were beginning to stir. Every so often one would cut loose with a few swinging bars of their distinctive morning song—and while night lost its hold and black turned to gray as the burgeoning dawn found it way, the song of the robins became louder, bolder, longer, the building light being magically translated and poured out in their reflected joy.
I love robins, love their straightforward, joyous song. They sing with such unbridled enthusiasm! As if their hearts have simply swollen and finally bubbled over with pure melody—too glorious to be held back and contained until dawn. And so they sing their good news into the darkness, a boisterous proclamation of vernal triumph. A singing robin is truly spring personified, lyrical proof-positive of the season's arrival.
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12 comments:
well that will pull anybody out of the winter blues-here yesterday I saw people in shorts,tshirts and flipflops-I on the other hand still ventured out with my wool undershirt on underneath-I have doubts until I see some flowers(non visible yet)have a singing good day.
Kali often says to me that if we Americans weren't so familiar with Robins we'd go "ga-ga" when we saw one, with their striking black backs and their burnt-orange chests.
We went for a walk last evening to enjoy the fabulous weather. Our route included a church property with a long, broad, flat lawn. Dozens of Robins were foraging on the lawn. I remarked to Kali that it "looked like a croquet court with Robins instead of balls."
I recall an incident a few years ago in which two visitors from England stopped by the preserve at mid-day in mid-summer and asked for suggestions about where to bird. I gave them some suggestions, but added rather dismissively that the only birds they were likely to see were Robins. They replied, "Well, they'd be new for us!" Point taken.
Our robins are so very different from yours Grizz and yet they too are such little singers and gladden the heart. They are also very aggressive towards other birds but as they are so pretty one can forgive them anything.
AfromTO…
Indeed, you're in sad shape when you can't be cheered by a robin's ebullient song.
In fact, I fixed steaks on the grill for supper yesterday, and my attire was shorts, a long-sleeved tee, and sneakers. And in the same outfit, ate our meal on the deck afterwards, and sat out until full dark. Just a few minutes ago I came in from a photo-making amble of the yard, to exchange my LS-tee for one with short sleeves because I was getting too hot. You'd feel spring safe here, as there are flowers blooming everywhere. (Wool undershirt? Egads!)
Grizz: The dawn chorus at Roundtop is beginning. At the moment it's filled with robins and bluebirds, staccato provided by a lone phoebe. I so love hearing the birds singing in the early morning again.
hey you forget I sleep outdoors-wool undershirts are lifesavers-my dream is a cashmere undershirt
Weaver…
Similar yet different. Our robins are rather aggressive, too. All week I've been watching flocks feeding on the yard, and every so often seeing a couple of males square off and began flopping and rolling about like two roosters, including facing leaps of several feet into the air, a midair exchange, and a back-to-earth tumbling squabble.
Scott…
I expect she's right. Yet I would also point out how their colors are on the slightly muted side—overall lacking in that certain "wow!" factor. You have to really look at a robin to appreciate its subtle beauty, much the same as you do for a female cardinal.
I like that "croquet court" comparison. I get a kick out for watching a bunch of robins feeding, all those tilt-dash moves going on.
Yeah, it easy to become blasé to the (for us) commonplace, forgetting that it might be new and possibly spectacular to others. I've had to relearn this myself a time or two.
Carolyn…
No bluebirds or phoebes here, but tons of cardinals and wrens and similar choir members to add to the pre-dawn tune-up and subsequent swell. I love that morning symphony, too—and I'll bet you have quite the orchestra there on Roundtop. I have to go camping in the southeastern hills to enjoy a similar mix of songsters.
AfromTO…
Cashmere, maybe; wool outerwear, absolutely, though it can be a bit heavy…but wool against my delicate he-man hide and comfortable sleep would be incompatible. Thank God for poly-fleece!
Well, beautifully put.
Thank you.
Robin…
On the contrary, thank you. I was just thinking what a namesake blessing you have.
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