It was officially declared spring last week, March 21st, but I think it is more a legend at present with a false sense of belief.
We endured a most brutal winter with consistent below zero temperatures and we have had our fair share of ice storms and blizzards. We also experienced two or three reprieves — false starts where the odd day in March hit over the freezing mark. For those of you who didn’t live Toronto’s cold winter, those above zero temps felt almost like summer to us here.
Those very few days were short-lived as another storm would soon blow in the next day and we were once again back to below zero.
The first day of spring was zero degrees and it snowed for the better part of the day. The five foot drifts of shoveled snow remained piled against the curbs as though they had no knowledge that spring had arrived.
With no hint of grass, snow-laden roofs remained, and not a bird was in sight. Of course the birds have known all along that it wasn’t time for their return.
This morning when I woke, I opened the curtains and was pleasantly surprised to see the sun looking back at me. When I sat down with my coffee in tow and began writing, I heard an unfamiliar sound. It was coming from my backyard, so I got up and followed the sound. It lead me to my kitchen window when I realized it was the chatter of birds. The sun was shining, the snow still blanketed over the trees and the shed; yet the birds had come.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they had an internal clock, alerting them when it was the best time to arrive back for spring; or if they were perhaps just passing by to say hello.
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