for three weeks, i’ve carefully tracked the gradual increase toward may’s crescendo of bird song: first the black-capped chickadees, then the tufted titmice and northern cardinals; ravens chortling love notes in dipped-wing flights, and the somber oboe tones of mourning doves. red-winged blackbird song never fails to sound spring’s trumpet, but the best, for me, is the tender woodwind trills of an american robin, setting up shop outside my bedroom window, high in an ancient black locust tree. the tree is older than the house’s 150 years; i have seen it, alone in pictures atop this sandy glacial knoll, a survivor during a time when vermont had nearly lost its forests. maybe it was brought here from the south by vermont colonizers to royalton. this winter has left branches broken and dangling after the wet snows and strong winds. still, it stands, and welcomes the robin, whose spring song is tonic for my soul. 

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