Siren Call of Spring

     The Canada Geese were calling. From inside the house, I could hear them shouting joyously to one another, so I went out into the sunshine to listen. Far up in the buoyant blue air, higher even than the planes climbing the sky from O’Hare, hosts of geese were swarming like bees. I had to crane my eyes to see them. Their joy was contagious and I stood in the yard with a silly grin on my face.

     The UPS man, coming up the neighbor’s driveway said: “Crazy isn’t it?” He was smiling too.

     “It’s a sure sign of spring,” I answered.

     “I’ve never seen so many at once,” he added with a trace of wonder in his voice.

     “I have, but only in the spring.”

     Only in the spring.

     When snowdrops spring from the earth at the first touch of warmth, and each day of sun shines like a benison of grace. When ice ebbs and flows into the gutter and down the drain with a sound like singing. When bright buds burst with mirth and a mist of green hangs in the treetops. Spring, falling on the earth in cloudburst and cataract to wash away the wrack of winter.

     It isn't my favorite season of the year, and yet, my heart never fails to rise to the siren call of Spring.