A thrush is singing. I don’t know how I know it’s a thrush because I’ve never heard a song so strange, so exciting, so hair raisingly, knee tremblingly exotic in my life. It’s coming from the top of the big ash tree. Cutting through the evening drizzle, clear and high, as pure as oxygen. Quivering, fluting, tik tik tiking. Over and over and over. Honeying the blood in my veins. It’s electrifying me out of my long winter torpor. It quite literally seems to be heralding creation.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Open your eyes. Look!
Because the magic is beginning beginning beginning”