Spring Fling

There is something about spring that energizes the soul like nothing else. Following a couple of months of looking out the window and longing for some kind of weather other than cold and gray, knowing that warm days are due soon, my impatience builds to bursting levels. An isolated pleasant day in early March of 75 degrees just whets the appetite for more, but I know that it's just a taste of what's possible, not that the fierce grip of winter has yet to let go.

Then late March and early April finally arrives—seemingly several months past due—and true signs of spring are being flung in the air. The first tentative bird calls now become persistent solos on the part of males seeking to define their territory. Buds whose fulness were mostly in our imaginations a couple of weeks ago take on color and the real promise of sudden bursting. The color of green—mostly owned by pine trees throughout the winter months—begins to emerge from many places.

On nights following a soaking in the outdoor tub, I sleep in the comfy confines of my meditation hut; disconnected from the human world and more directly tuned into nature. A couple of days ago I emerged from the night's sleep, to step outside the hermitage at dawn and greet the day with a morning pee. As I stood there I was drawn in by various bird calls from around the clearing. In the center of our little Eden the resident cardinal was singing loudly, declaring to any foolish competitor that he was king here. Up towards the end of the drive I heard the gobble of a male turkey calling all hens to come and partake of the spring service that he was more than willing to provide them. His babble persisted for several minutes. I knew he was also displaying himself—tail feathers all splayed out, chest puffed proudly up, and colorful beard wobbling enticingly.

From somewhere overhead I heard what I first thought was a crow calling out with his raucous “craahk.” Looking up I was astonished to see that it was not a crow but four (4!) great blue herons cruising overhead, in two-by-two flight. Their call is similar to a crows, but more like a hoarse “fraaahnk.” A great blue heron is aptly named, being fully the size of a bald eagle (four feet long, with a six-foot wingspan). I was so blown away that I nearly peed on my shoe!

Now the daffodils are blooming, the forsythia are shouting out, and many other blossoming shrubs and trees are threatening to add their voice in the spring chorus. Only chilly, rainy days can keep me penned in the house. What am I sitting here typing for? I might be missing the latest call.