Winter Woods

It has felt like a long winter. We've had snow since about mid-November. Not continuously, of course, but occasionally it arrives in heaping servings.

And it's been cold. Unrelentingly cold: in fact, the coldest winter I can remember.

But it is March now. And at the university where I work, the dorms are silent, the students away on spring break. So surely we must be heading into spring. These are among its signs. The birds start winging their way north; the students travel south, to warmer climes.

In the winter woods, there is still a decent snow pack on the ground. But it is thawing around the edges. In spots, I can see bare ground.

In a few weeks, some of these bumps and dips will become vernal pools, chirping with spring peepers, the din nearly deafening. For now, though, the ponds are still covered in snow, the peepers silent.

A branch moves. A bird sings. I can hear spring waiting at the edges to be born.

The song: from the album Winter Into Spring, George Winston's February Sea.