Rebirth

Wife and I went for a walk yesterday morning, through the local wildlife conservancy, a few blocks from home. The sun shone, the air was t-shirt warm, the spring birds were singing and darting about, shrubs and trees have buds well on the way to opening. The sky had only the faintest white puffs of cloud, and slight breezes drifted against us.

Ah, spring. So welcome after what turned out to be one of the harshest winters in years. Hard to believe how quickly winter has become a memory, those frigid mornings as far gone as the once-deep drifts, and the landscape has grown again into green and promises more.

Fitting that our first real walk of the year came on Easter, the day that for so many people symbolizes rebirth, redemption, and promise. It all seemed so right.

And today seems to promise even more. Here in the States it's "Earth Day," a time for remembering the environment that makes us all possible. It also happens to be my birthday, and my younger daughter gave me a new, theoretically squirrel-proof, bird feeder. I have my doubts, but I filled it a few minutes ago and put it up. Now I'm sitting on the screened porch in a light jacket, watching as the local cardinal begins cautiously checking it out, flits back and forth, and makes a sort of chittering sound, probably calling for his mate. Soon the chickadees will show up, and the wrens, all of whom will perch on the sides of the feeder, bickering and squabbling and sharing. Then the juncoes will come and scratch around in the seeds that fall to the ground, and then the mourning doves.

The chipmunks will soon scurry out and begin watchfully gathering seeds. The rabbits will wander by, including (I hope) my friend with the damaged back leg, who has somehow survived the winter -- yesterday when I opened the back door she came running up to me, and took a cracker from my hand. The other morning I saw a field mouse venture out, a "wee cowering timorous beastie," hoping to grab a bite while the others are distracted, always ready to dash for cover, seeming to think he has no real right to exist, but nonetheless daring to survive.

At some point, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, or soon thereafter, the red-tailed hawk will wander by and settle in the cherry tree and wait for a chance at his own meal, at the expense of the others. After all, every good story needs a villain.

Or two.

Which reminds me. Soon enough the squirrels will show up, and test out the feeder. But that will be another story for another time.

This is my day.