The telltale call in the wee hours of the morning, herald of spring. This year, a robin has moved in so close to my little flat that I have resigned myself to the reality that when the windows are open this year, I will be awakened long before dawn. No way around it.
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| Lake Michigan shore, Feb 2010 - Photo: Margaret Swedish |
And this year the windows are open early. Record warmth has spread across the country, while I'm still wondering what happened to my winter. I am missing deep in my soul the frozen lake, the ice sculptures formed when the winter storms send waves crashing on the rocks and bluffs. I am missing the unforgettable, awe-striking sound of water undulating beneath the ice sheets on the lake's surface, the sounds of cracking, the almost imperceptible motion of the ice that if you really pay attention to it can make you feel dizzy, as if the earth itself is gently rocking, rocking.
We are shattering records by 30-40 degrees. I say to my friends, if it's 82 in March, what will it be in July?
Are we scared yet?
Or does the robin song in the hours before dawn annoy the sleep-deprived, the busy workers, the ones who stayed up late playing Wii games?
