The birds are back

 You can tell we have rounded the corner into spring. When I let Brio out this morning, I could hear ducks in the distance (they always come to stay on our pool at our city house), and the robins -- the quintessential sound of summer -- were in full throat. There is a particular cardinal who always drowns them all out, though, with his birdseed birdseed birdseed bigger bigger bigger shout. You can't help but be happy when birds sing.

When I was young, Dad would take me out birdwatching with him, and we'd spend ages with binoculars, scanning the trees. I was always worried he'd wreck the car, because we'd be speeding along the highway and he'd suddenly say, "There's a red-tailed hawk" and I'd peer and strain and see a tiny tiny speck in the far distance and know Dad's eyes could not possibly be on the road. I remember once he and I went canoeing on Utah Lake. I was in front, paddling for all I was worth, but we were making no headway. When, exhausted, I looked back at Dad, he had shipped his paddle and was watching birds.