Every time I drive over the bridge there are more of them there than the last time.
The returning has begun.
In the car, though, you miss the sound of it. On a blog, you do, too. There’s just nothing that replaces the physical act of standing on the bridge, leaning into a square wooden beam, and immersing yourself in a few minutes of that wondrous cacophony of honking, quacking and trumpeting. It’s the music of spring migration, and it’s enough to infuse any year-round resident who has weathered yet one more season of long nights and sub-zero temps with hope.
I heard them chattering in the church foyer last week, too, as the winter birds gathered round, tired faces relaxing into welcoming smiles for these forerunners of the much-anticipated annual migration. The sound of the returning was never so obvious, however, or so beautiful, than it was in the swelling fullness of the opening hymn.
Welcome back, snowbirds. It’s good to hear all your happy voices again.
“Even the stork in the sky knows her seasons; and the turtledove and the swift and the thrush observe the time of their migration.” (Jeremiah 8:7)
“For, lo, the winter is past…the time of the singing of birds is come.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)
Rejoicing Hills 
Love your swans, Beth, you’re so fortunate to have them all around you. So happy that spring has sprung. Thank you for sharing.