This morning I woke too early. I lay in bed as the room gradually appeared from the darkness, the gray rectangles of windows followed by shadowy forms of furniture. I could hear the ticking of the alarm clock and the fainter squeak of the spring unwinding. From downstairs came the growl of the furnace and the clank of heating pipes. The cat padded up and down the stairs.

From outside, from a distance, came the clipped caw-caw-caw of a crow. Half asleep as I was, it took me a moment to realize it was the first crow I'd heard for months. Since before the onset of winter? I couldn't remember when they'd vanished. In the summer they're always up with the sun. After awhile I don't notice. And I don't notice their absence until they return, apparently.

Mary had mentioned hearing a bird yesterday afternoon. The birds know something is happening, despite the snow cover that's remained unbroken for the past month and the temperatures which only sporadically nudge above freezing. There is probably some insight to be gleaned from this but I'm too tired to think what it is.