It’s late enough in winter, here, in Vermont, that everyone’s mind turns to spring, as if it were around the corner, which we all know it isn’t.  But a winter thaw is definitely in motion.  I have a house up from a river and I’m hearing grinding noises that sound like trucks dropping fifty-foot lengths of girding, when it’s the river ice breaking up.   Icicles and chunks of ice and snow, slide down one roof and crash into the roof below.  Crows caw, seeming to express their displeasure at this or that, though I suspect that’s not what they’re talking about.

But maybe this is the turning point.   Maybe, even if we get cold winds and big snowfalls, they’ll feel like aberrations in the flow toward more warmth and light.   I hear tweets among the caws I haven’t heard for many months.