March in all of it’s bi-polar madness, warm days, sunshine, snow and cold pouring rain. The time change is brutal, I curse the person who invented alarm clocks, and then the one who invented clocks, squeezing human beings into a construct of man when we are creatures of nature.
Tuesdays are especially brutal, I have to be at work 40 minutes earlier, when the perfect time for my internal body clock to arrive at work is a full hour and a half later. I open the door to the drizzle, a steady one, if I were living in a rainforest, I imagine this rain would have its own name. And then I hear the song of it, and in the rain with my boiled wool sweater and steam punk style brimmed cap, I search for the singer. And then there it is high up in the maple tree. I know you cannot tell what it is by this picture, but the song said it all.
The first robin of spring.