I mark the first day of spring with my ears

I mark the first day of spring with my ears. When I hear our mocking bird sing his first repertoire I know the world has tilted toward the sun. For the 13 years I’ve lived here we have had a mocking bird bring us spring time. The first one I met sat on the neighbor’s antenna, his great great grandson likes the tree across the street. We live in a small cul-de-sac so wherever they lite, their songs reach us easily and clearly.
Always makes me smile when I hear him trying to get a date – “Hey, you hear something you like?” He asks with his tunes. “I’ll be here all week.”
Must work too because like I said, we’ve had this magnificent visit for 13 years and probably many more before I showed up – although it has been suggested I am a mocking bird magnet.
Sometimes after he’s done his latest composition, I’ll whistle one of mine. Something short, easy for me to remember, and him to pick up. And he does. It takes me two, four at the most tries before he gets it, and then he owns it. I have to go find a new one if I want to hang out in his yard.

The second best thing about Mr. Mocking bird is his dance. This guy is a super salesman, who could resist? After he’s wowed us, and all the female mocking birds with one or two of his songs, he jumps up into the air and flaps his wings in a semi spiral flight that defies aerodynamics and logic, almost as if he were in a fight with some other imaginary bird, culminating it with a delightful glide, wigs wide, down to his chosen perch.

Then he looks about, and if the bushes or shrubs doesn’t rustle (the common over here big boy signal from the female) he starts all over.
Just like the year, starting all over.

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