Jubilant skeins of of geese fly in from the south, and they sing their return in noisy unison. The congregations headed further north are so high they are almost invisible among the clouds, and their voices are only faint honkings on the wind. Flocks of mallard ducks splash about in the open coves of local rivers and quack happily in roadside puddles.
A solitary heron perches on the shore at the lake and wonders why on earth she has come home so early in the season. Trumpeter swans and loons have more sense, and they return later, waiting until there is enough open water to accommodate their outsize landing gear.
A little later, there are larks and killdeer, beaky snipe and woodcock, plucky robins and sparrows, the graceful "v" shapes (dihedrals) of turkey vultures soaring majestically over the countryside and rocking effortlessly back and forth in their flight. From below, the light catches their silvery flight feathers and dark wing linings, and the great birds are as magnificent as any eagle.
A solitary goshawk perches in a bare tree on the hill, and a male harrier describes perfect, languid circles over the western field. Both birds are hungry after their long journey north, and they train their fierce yellow eyes on the field below, ardently scanning the ground for a good meal.
This morning, a male cardinal is singing his heart out in the ash tree in the garden, and an unidentified warbler lifts its voice somewhere in the rainy darkness. Even the weather foretold for this day will be a friend.
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