SONGBLOSSOMS

A couple of days of Spring, the plum blossoms just about to pop into clouds of white, and then I'm back out in the falling snow this afternoon, cutting firewood. That's mountain life. But then while carrying in all the firewood and stacking it next to the stove I got my reward: I got to hear the manic warbler over in the thick copse on the other side of the road, doing his beautiful medley (his version of the one Ludwig copied for Pastorale) for as long as his breath held out, the last few notes spaced further and further apart and growing progressively weaker until as I picture it he falls from the branch and lies on the ground gasping for air until he recovers his senses, then he's back up there again on behalf of the leafless trees, serenading the whole snowfalling mountainside. Guess that's how it is when you've been storing up that much song all winter and you just can't wait to give it all you've got, bring some fluid beauty into the still, cold world.