Winter was hard, and the trees know that in order to survive another one like the long doozy we had they need to put out great numbers of seeds. Before we left for New York and New Jersey last Sunday the seeds on our Red Sunset Maple were dropping and spinning through the air, and now, a scant week after we left an almost late-wintery midwest, they have taken root.
We came back to intense birdsong: beautiful, lively, and constant. The birds are enjoying the bounty of the trees and singing to one another. The flowers have burst into bloom, and the air smells wonderful.
I imagine that there are birds in New York City, where we spent several days walking to and fro, but I didn't pay attention to them because I couldn't hear them with all the city noise. (I do enjoy the collage of city noises, and while in the city my attention is always drawn to things synthetic because around here we have little in the way of city glitter.) Sibelius once remarked about the birdsong of a country influencing the music that people write. I think that's true of all the sounds that surround us (right now the birds outside my window are being accompanied by the steady hum of a mower).
In a few minutes I'll be adding to the musical activity with some viola scales.
It's nice to be home.