That Time of Year

The weather kicks sideways this time of year. It’s not always as bad as the year we got 39 inches of snow in one night in March and were snowed in for three days, but there’s always something.

It was warm as a sweet late May in the mountains three days ago, the time the redbuds and mountain laurel are in bloom, and sometimes dogwoods. But now we’re just grumping about it, siting under four inches of fluffy snow. It looks pretty resting soft on trees turning the world a shining, heavenly white in the morning sun, but it isn’t really welcome.

The snow won’t last long. I watch the gusts clear the branches of it puff by puff, and I start to wonder if the robin who hatched last spring in the lilac bush outside our kitchen door will come around again soon, just for old time’s sake.

Half a lifetime ago there was once an orphaned robin chick. The kids named him Geek because of the sound he made when hungry and they begged us to keep him. We dug up worms for him–well, I did, after a couple of days. He studied us, head cocked to the side, eyes bright,  as we showed him where the best bugs hid in the tall grass. Smart bird. He figured out what that was about, and soon was feeding himself.

He came back to visit the rest of that summer. Just came by and said hello. Talked to us, like he missed us. The next spring he was back once again, with a lady friend. The nest they built produced three young ones,  who left for California on the Fall Express, and didn’t look back.

It’s just that time of year when the weather kicks sideways, the nesting robins haven’t shown up yet and I am wishing the gusts would blow the rest of the snow off of my branches, too. My spirit is itching to take off with the first warm breezes.