Like the advent of spring itself, we are coming alive. I noted that the first wave of robins, <em>turdis migratorius</em>, arrived unusually early, on January 21. As I gazed upon that spectacle I thought them rather foolish (or at least impulsive); I was as certain as could be that they would soon wish they were still frolicking in Florida when the next ice storm or blizzard visited itself upon them. Lo and behold, as it so happens, their arrival seems to have foretold an early spring!
It was about 5 years ago that I found morels in Washington County on April 1. That's the earliest I've found them. Routinely it happens around April 10–12; last year it was April 17. But judging from the awakening all around us it's shaping up to be an early season, and I'm once more ready to feel the wrath of the thorn and bleed for the moment of each year that I live for. Imagine...within a few, mere weeks that old, weathered post will be graced by the meadowlark as it has been for more years than can be remembered. At about that time our careful gaze will fix itself upon that first morel of the season and mind, body and soul will merge amid the energy of that sweet adrenalin rush of that instant when the puzzle of the forest floor suddenly comes into sharp focus.
As I see it, the rhythm of nature offers us a degree of certainty that is comforting in a world in which there are otherwise few guarantees. I hope we never lose that guarantee and the comfort it brings, however there is cause for some concern. But for now, once again, it's only a matter of time--and time seems to be on our side this year. Drink deeply of the moment.