Waiting, waiting

This morning, before the wind came up, I was out on the deck having coffee. Funny thing about the wind this time of year it determines if it is winter or spring. Calm days, the sun is intensely warm and even though the outside temperature might be in the minus teens, a t-shirt is sufficiently warm. By lunch the wind had come up and, even though there was no change in the air temperature, a ski jacket, touque and gloves were not warm enough.

But I digress, this morning having coffee I listened intently for birdsong.  There should be birdsong, but except for one lone Raven, proclaiming to all the world that he was the handsomest bird around, there was nothing to be heard.  The Snow Buntings have not begun singing in earnest, marking their territories, praising the light, explaining joy.

So I tell myself I must wait. Perhaps in a week or two the gulls will start to arrive, perhaps in a week or two more and more male Snow Buntings will wing their way to my little corner of the world.  Perhaps it will be a week or more until I hear their sounds of joy, paving the way for the other singers, like the Lapland Longspur.  There is plenty in nature in the High Arctic, you just have to learn to wait for it.  Tomorrow perhaps. Perhaps the day after.