Spring

Spring has sprung.
The grass has ris.
I wonder where
Da boidies is.

I'll tell you where they is... in the courtyard just off my balcony. After last week's aborted attempt by two mourning doves to build a nest on a neighbor's window sill, this morning I spotted my first robin, flitting about on the ground beneath a yet-to-sprout-leaves tree (the species of which, for all its nakedness, I can't identify).

You know, I'm inspired to think for a second about the fact that the robin now seems to me such an ordinary bird. Aside from the fact that its eggs are such an otherworldly hue, nothing seems special about it. Its ruddy breast is, well, drab. Its song isn't particularly special. And it doesn't have any wondrous behaviors that make it stand out in any way. I'm sure there's something unique about it that I don't know... but what I do know doesn't set my hair on fire.

And yet when I was a boy, I remember thinking amazing things about robins -- they were, in fact, one of my favorite birds. I loved finding and seeing them -- perhaps I was a birder even then -- and I loved pointing them out to anyone who'd bother to listen. "Look," I would say, "a robin!" As if that was some sort of precious gift.

And in fact, perhaps it is, for this morning's robin has brought with it a fond memory of my childhood, one I'll appreciate all day long... leaving me quite grateful for spring's arrival.