Approximately a billion robins mobbed the backyard today – flittery clouds of wings, a choral cacophony of chips and chirps and cheeriupping. A few red-winged blackbirds buzzed their spring song, and I spotted two dapper cedar waxwings in an apple tree.
Speaking of apples, my clinging apple has at last disappeared from the pond tree. Among all the possibilities for its final fall, I never anticipated bird consumption, but I think that’s exactly what finished it. Pussywillows decorate the twig tips near the Heron Cove end of our still iced-over pond, though the ice is developing a porous, milky look.
The temperature is 12 degrees Fahrenheit, but spring is in the air.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 203: 111 words, TOTAL = 33,257; 26,743 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.