I awoke the other morning to a sound I haven't heard in a few months: bird song. I sat up in bed and listened motionless, afraid I was simply dreaming. Wait, there it was again. It was not the usual call of crows and blue Jays that normally greet me on cold winter mornings. In fact, it has been so bitterly cold overnight that I haven't even heard those kissing cousins lately, but a warm front had moved in and, believe it or not, the overnight temperature had hovered around 40, a miracle for the end of January in the northeast.
I got out of bed and peeked through the curtains. I could not see my little song bird but his chirps were coming from above my head, probably on the roof. Intellectually, I knew it was still winter, but my heart just had to ask: "Is it spring yet?"
Often when the world of human chaos gets to me and I swear I can't make it through one more sub-zero day, I hold on to my faith in the natural cycles of nature. Spring will come, the birds will return, and the sun will most assuredly rise tomorrow, whether I can see it through the cloud cover or not - that, too, I have faith in. Faith in things unseen is the most miraculous faith of all.
My little song bird has moved on, but I know he will return when it is safe for him to do so, and he will bring his friends with him. On that morning, when I am serenaded by a chorus of birdsong, I will know that my faith in nature has been rewarded at last.
And so it is.
