The winter has been long here, long and bitterly cold. Today I went for a bike ride through the park nearby, where just a day or two ago the snow rendered it impassable.
The landscape was grim and brown, trampled down under the weight of the heavy winter. But as I rolled along the rutted path I heard singing. It was a red-winged black bird. Not so pretty, some might say a junk bird.
His song cheered me, told me that eventually spring comes. I suppose that’s the lesson of the spring – the song birds always return.