Bad Finnish Birdwatcher

Tuesday, February 26, 2008 - Trumpets of spring

I was unable to escape it. Not that I would have tried. The sound penetrated through a double window and into my ears as I was reading a newspaper. I wasn't aware of nature at that time. A Great Tit shouting it's heart out outside the window changed that. What the hell. I had a good half an hour. The news weren't that good anyway - they rarely are. I went out.

The grass between the ditch and the plowed field was dead and yellow, there was no sign of any spring flowers. The field seemed inviting for a Lark or a Lapwing to my human eyes. But it was empty. A lone Crow on the roof of a distant barn bowed its chest down and opened it's bill. I could hear nothing but I figured the sound got lost in the warm wind. For warm it was. And the sun was shining. Making the water (flowing free of ice) in the ditch sparkle.

So I followed the ditch to the end of the field and then through the Alder thickets until I got to the lake shore and then on the ice. For frozen it was. There was someone skating. I felt darn clumsy on the slippery ice with my worn out shoes. On the opposite side of the lake, on the ice, there were white lumps. And some of the white lumps had long white necks they stretched towards the sky. And they made a trumpet-like sound.