For months, for what seems like forever, you don’t hear it. Then, suddenly you do.
Birdsong.
Yesterday morning, as I made my way for much-needed coffee, I noticed.
It wasn’t just a few tweets, or honking geese returning home from wherever they were, or the caw of the crows that stuck around all winter, it was full-fledged birdsong.
It was welcome.
It might have been that the Sun is rising earlier now, or that yesterday was mostly sunny and warm (finally); you never know when. Birdsong arrives unexpectedly, it seems, many days before dawn.
It’s a reassuring sound that spring is actually here. Finally. More importantly, it is a sound I will hear more of as the season progresses, and when summer arrives. It’s a sound that says everything is okay, that this planet is not such a bad place (at least locally is it), and you are here.
And now you are hearing nostalgic sounds, heartwarming sounds, sounds fuller than a symphony; sounds that remind you that you’re alive.
Birdsong is random; it comes from all directions. You never seem to see the source, but know it is there. Hearing is believing. It is a morning thing, mostly, or mostly noticeable before the city wakes and the usual noise of the day takes over.
You enjoy it while you can, daily or seasonally, and it is most welcome.
Gratitude is found in birdsong.
© 2026 j.g. lewis
Nights arrive earlier.
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