February 26

The pine boughs, bent over from the burden of the heavy snows of yesterday, spent the day slowly releasing clumps here and there as the temperatures rose. It was late winter’s own version of the symphony we look forward to hearing in spring, when the rains drop incessantly from the budding trees and roof eaves, making rhythmic notes. We anticipate these things after the long winter, which apart from the wind and sleet, is bereft of common sounds.

It is a small awakening of sound, of course, but it is a harbinger of the chorus that soon awaits. If you listen carefully, it has begun in the creaking of the road bed that heaves with frost and thaw. It is in the slow movement of the sap in the maples, rising in earnest to fuel the budding of new growth. It is the robin’s song or the titmouse’s call, which has changed ever so slightly in signal of the coming spring. Soon we will leave behind the cold sounds of winter winds against the house or the still, soundless nights of January where no noise interrupts the silence in the woods.