January Robins

Some of the best sights go unphotographed.

This morning I went for a walk around the neighborhood. I’ve had to lay off running over the last year because of joint issues, and often I walk on the treadmill. This allows me to read while exercising, which is a source of pleasure right at the start of the day. But it’s always better still to get outdoors — even though at this time of year it’s usually dark. There is a meditative quality to these walks that I crave, and this morning I took my restless mind out for a stroll.

It was like walking in a cloud; the air is dense with water vapor from the melting snow, and noticably mild. The birds were quite vocal, almost as though they were having a premonition of spring: titmice, chickadees, cardinals, nuthatches, blue jays. The world was in shades of gray.

But then I saw something totally unexpected: two pale robins! This was a first. A pair of robins in upstate New York in January. Robins are supposed to mean spring:

Robin’s song is crystal clear
Cold as an icicle,
Sharp as a spear.
I have seen Spring lift her head,
Snowdrops a-shivering,
Winter dead.

(“Robin’s Song,” E.L.M. King)

Granted, they weren’t singing. They were clucking, no doubt critical of the shrivelled berries they were eating. But still, it was a sight to remember.