In this part of our world, Spring’s arrival is heralded with song — specifically, with one song. Oh, there will be others that summon attention to and attendance on the season; in another week or two, the winds will accompany the arrival of powwow season, raising their voices in collective song while they stomp and whirl in a furious dance.
But Spring’s own singer? There’s only one: Meadowlark.
His favorite spot is atop a singular high place — blue spruce, aspen, latilla pole — where his song can be heard for a mile in all directions.
On some years, we lucky enough to have our local pair winter with us, too. Oddly, it seems to happen in the harsher winters; perhaps they tarried too long in planning their migratory journey a little further south, and judge it safer to stay here where there is food and water and no fear of predation. In the winter, their brilliant yellow color fades a bit, as they don robes more suited to the camouflage of snow.
Of course, just because the calendar says that it’s Spring doesn’t mean that Winter has fully departed. She hasn’t. She’ll make repeated return trips in the weeks to come — one year, she stopped by in mid-June before taking the summer off — but despite the snow and sleet she brings, she comes on warmer winds now. And while our Spring herald has already donned his summer garb, he knows that he and his have a safe space even on those days yet to come when the snow yet flies.
He is an industrious balladeer, a troubadour of time and sun and season: up at dawn, already ascended to a place high enough to use his bird’s-eye view to full advantage, allowing him to direct his voice where it is needed most or used best.
And in between songs, he waits — quietly, meditatively, planning his next chorus while those who hear absorb the message of his last.
He will sing, intermittently, until a little before sundown — sometimes in short sharp solo bursts, sometimes in duet with his mate in a fluttering call-and-response.
And sometimes, when we’re really lucky, he’ll let us not merely hear, but see . . . see the singer, and the song.
~ Aji
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