It's come later than usual this year, but come at last it has, the night that the katydids first begin to sing.
Usually it's in the first few days of February it happens, on a warm, dry night that feels curiously free. That's when you know for sure Winter has finally given up its grasp. Even if the cold comes again, it will only be half-hearted. It is the true turning of the year.
By this time last February, the mountain laurels were in full bloom. I went down to the creek today and saw not a hint of blossom at all. As it's been so often lately, the timetable of the year is a bit off, as if nature is adjusting to a new calendar, turning on an axis that's just a little different than it was before. I think about cycles of creation and decay; I see the signs all around, of a sort of falling-apart-of-things. I wonder if a clock is winding down somewhere.
Even so, we still have this lovely warm night, just on the verge of Spring, when the Earth begins to come back to life.
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