Buzzards. Robins. Writing.

Turkey buzzards have returned. On this first day of spring, these birds fly broad-winged over the river, slow, slow, fixated. Late afternoon, I have a few minutes before I’m expected home again for daughter time, daughter chat. I keep walking and discover robins are singing in a tree behind the train station. A slight thing? No way. I stand there, listening, looking up at the treetops where the branches are still barren, months yet away from leaves. I can’t see them, but it’s robins, definitely.

The Sunlight Press was kind enough to run a short pandemic piece I wrote.

Greet the unknown. Much later that night, you’re reading Hunter Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in your bedroom when your daughter runs in, alarmed, and opens your window….

5 thoughts on “Buzzards. Robins. Writing.

  1. As I read your post today (I think I’ve read all your posts) I realized that I could hear sparrows singing in the trees in front of my house here in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Spring is my favourite season of the year. Full of hope, just like your posts.

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