Snow Day

A few days ago my bird population soared as winter's birds were joined by spring's harbingers: robins. These red-breasted groundfeeders -not seen since fall -- were once again everywhere, creating a morning symphony of birdsong.

Indeed, the air grew balmy, warming to the upper 40s, the mid-50s, causing us to shed winter parkas for lighter jackets and hoodies. January thaw? Of course. I hold no illusion that winter is over.

In the tree outside my window, my seven pairs of cardinals and their cold weather companions, finches, chickadees, nuthatches and such, were surrounded by hundreds of other birds. The sunflower seeds in my feeders shrank as if poured through an hourglass -- which is about how long long it took these vultures in the making to deplete each feeder.

Punctuating an exceptionally cold and snowy Tennessee winter, the robins hinted at spring hovering on some meteorologic horizon that would include daffodils, daylight savings time and tornado season.

Yesterday, though, that snippet of warm air dissipated, displaced by a damp frigid cold and a burst of snowfall, the crisp kind of snow that froze roads and coated sidewalks with an icy froth.

Beneath my feet, unlike previous soft billowy snowfalls, this snow crunched and crackled with an edgy sharpness that said "I'm going to make your life a tad difficult for the next few days."

It didn't, though. I of Vermont traction snowboots, long underwear, SmartWool socks and all that other northern cold weather gear, donned my camera, stepped outside and took photos. I can't walk far at all, nor can I stand for long, but a folding chair in the snow and a lens aimed at my birds addressed both issues.

My cheeks reddened, my shoulders were capped in white; being outside for however brief a time was a resuscitation of my spirit, of inner harmony suppressed and saddened through the winter months. I don't do confinement or immobility well.

Snowfalls are a joy, a tumble of happiness that unfailingly scrubs the air clean. The day after a snowstorm usually dawns bright, bold, with the bluest sky and the most breathable air.

I scattered handfuls of ice melt on my sidewalk this morning, a solitary figure in a glistening world not yet awake ... except for my birds, clamoring once more at the feeders. Always hungry for more. Like me.