Red Winged Black Birds

I haven’t written anything in a while and I’m feeling guilty about that, so I’m going to write. It might be crap, but write I must! Yes, dammit, I must!

I woke up this morning to one of my top ten favorite sounds in the world. Birds trilling their wake up songs. It starts with one early riser. I’m guessing that 95% of the remaining birdy population hears him and thinks, “Ohhh kaaaayyy. Time to get up.” 2% think, “Sh*t! He beat me again! Connie, I told you to wake me up!” And the remaining 3% of the birds think, “F*ck. Can’t someone shut that little f*ck up?”

There are lots of cardinals where I live, and that makes me happy; they make me think of my Dad. Last month was the earnest honking of geese as they made their way back up north; they remind me of my Gramma.

I was in New York this weekend and heard one that I miss; the red winged black bird. They make such a sharp impatient sound. I was told once that they are the true harbingers of spring (thank you Dona) and I’m reminded of childhood springs in upstate New York - nothing had quite warmed up yet; dirty piles of snow defying the sun’s attempts, the cold smell of mud, the bite in the air. But no matter what snow fell at that point, you knew it was sort of a pointless exercise, one didn’t even need to wear a coat. Daffodils were right around the corner, the brown grass would turn green any day.

But I’m in Virginia now. It’s been green for weeks, there are daffodils everywhere; cherry blossoms too. I just don’t hear that many red winged black birds. I miss them. I miss New York.