O the rising of the Sun,
and the running of the deer;
the singing of Robin Redbreast,
when merry Yule draws near.
Wednesday, December 18
Holy gods. The robins are back already.
Robins don't overwinter here in Minneapolis. (Being worm-eaters, once the ground freezes, they can't access food.) I saw the last...sometime before Samhain, if memory serves.
But now they're back.
The two crab trees that flank the back gate are filled with maybe 50 robins—not normally flocking birds—gorging on crab apples. The repeated freeze-thaw cycles of late Autumn hasten fermentation of the sugars in the fruit. The robins are getting drunk.
The robins are having a Yule party.
Well, the worst of Winter is yet to come. After Yule is when the bottom usually drops out, and the Cold from Between the Stars descends. We can only wait and see.
Meanwhile, the omens suggest an early Spring.