Those of us "of a certain age" as the French say (they make everything sound sexy) may remember the old Judy Collins song, "Who Knows Where The Time Goes?" which asks the question about the birds, "Ah, how can they know it's time for them to go?" and I often wonder the same thing myself. Their brains can't be all that big, yet I hear about these incredible distances they travel without benefit of a GPS. I must say, I am very impressed. But I'm always a little disappointed that I don't notice the transition. When does the song start to thin out? Do they post on Birdie Facebook in August "This is it. Next Saturday. Stock up on bugs."? Do they have one last bash in the birch tree outside my window before taking off? Or do they, like too many of my aging friends, just slip away quietly, one by one until I look around and realize that I'm not living in the same world anymore. It's still nice but it's different.
Soon it will be time to close the windows altogether because the nights are getting so much cooler, and then even the crows will be muffled and maybe I'll get more sleep (if I knock off the late night brew with Himself), but I must confess that I'm already looking forward to the racket that will accompany the spring. And this time I'll pay attention!