I started the day with CBC's Vinyl Cafe, some wonderfully eclectic music and a beautiful story about Dave's neighbour Eugene. It's called The Fig Tree, a vignette about the re-birth of spring, and the simple pleasures of life. After it was over I hauled my ass downstairs for coffee, and some browsing - maybe I could start with a virtual coffee? I remembered one from years ago at Cambridge, alas, the pot had been sold. But now lives on in Germany. Empty when I looked so it was time for real coffee.
What's this to do with sounds of spring? Be patient, grasshopper. While brewing a cuppa and listening to the depressing radio news of Iraq being dragged biting and kicking into American democracy, I heard rumbles outside. No, not Harley's, but the rumble of distant thunder in a spring shower. So I turned off the news, and opened the door and enjoyed. A wonderfully grounding experience. The cat of course chose to listen from under the bed. I can also hear a robin out there now, singing his heart out like a flashy rappa - look at me, I'm so cool, would you like a fat worm? But my favorite spring bird is the red-winged blackbird, with it's 'oak-a-leee' and other calls, from a perch on a cat's tail. I used to drive home past a marsh, and in the spring, while stuck in traffic, roll the window down and listen to the sounds drifting in.
The rain has slowed to a few drips, I'm going to walk into the yard, coffee in hand, feel the wet grass squish between my bare toes, and listen. Try it.
