Nearly a wordless Wednesday

A wood thrush called last evening, the first to arrive.
This morning several more joined the chorus.
What is it about the song of a wood thrush,
that sounds so impossibly lovely?

I think it's how the sound echoes through the forest,
a bit like an echo, a call to spring.

The song wraps around the trees
like a present, or a cat winding between my ankles.
"I'm here, let the spring begin."

While I'm waiting for the woods to dry out enough to get down into them, I thought I'd post a few photos from the neighbor's orchard, which is just starting to bloom.  In this photo, notice that Roundtop is just peeking up behind the hill, still with a few very small patches of snow near the top.

 I can't resist a dirt road, or lane or path.

Occasionally, the sun comes out.