Two days from now, good ol' Punxsutawney Phil will be pulled from his hole to tell the world whether Winter is over. What a crappy job, and for what? He's only right 50% of the time anyway. (And in any given situation where you have two answers to chose from, you're going to get the same odds.)
For me, my sure signs Spring is near comes from my feathered friends. First off, the finches are eating at my feeder again. No finches all winter, and then a couple of days ago, I get finch-a-palooza.
But the real kicker was that this morning, I saw the first robin of Spring. Not only saw him, but he started singing from his perch at the top of our neighbor's tree. Huzzah!
Regardless of whatever anyone else says, the birds are usually right. They don't begin to migrate until whatever internal sensors they possess tell them they're going to find food wherever they're headed. God, I love evolution.
Sure, there could be one stupid robin who jumped the gun. I've seen it before. He arrives way too early and either starves or freezes. If it was just one bird, I wouldn't stake my reputation on it. But, the finches - and a whole flock of them - followed by that one robin pretty much nails it for me. Add in the fact that he was singing - which they don't do unless there's a fairly good chance a mate will be arriving soon - and I'm predicting winter here will end with a whimper this year.
If I'm wrong, you all can come back and laugh at me later.
So, Phil? Sleep in on the second. The birds have got your back. ;o)
7 hours ago