A Nod to Nancy Drew
Nancy, you mentioned last week that you'd heard the song of the red wing. At first, I figured you must have been mistaken, for springtime seemed as far off as a distant shore. Yet, in the fading light of Saturday's gloom, I found myself high on a ridge in the still drip of a heavy fog. It was there that my ear caught a startling racket. At first it seemed like the high pitch whine of some man-made entertainment. Yet upon calming and listening more carefully, I began to make out individual churrs amoung the garble. Far below me, tucked deep within the cover that hugs the still frozen lagoon, were trees covered in thousands of red winged blackbirds. When I saw a flock take to the sky and swoop off to the south, I instantly remembered what you had said, and made a nod of thankful recognition in your direction.