To everything (turn, turn, turn) there is a season (turn, turn, turn)

I saw my first jonquils and daffodils this week. Usually the bright yellow of the forsythia bushes is the first sign of winter's retreat, but not this year. I also saw the pink blossoms of a couple of flowering peaches. Next will come the creeping phlox and the tulip trees, or magnolia soulangiana, as the botanists say. The fescue has stayed green all winter, but the Bermuda sod is still dormant and brown. For the first time in several years, Atlanta has had a wet winter.

I know a little poem; it goes like this:

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz --
I wonder where the birdies is?

Well, this week I also heard the birdies for the first time since they left last fall. Oh, we have had Canada geese honking and big, black crows cawing all through the winter months, but I'm talking about songbirds, the real deal. I haven't really seen any of the birdies yet, not even a robin, but I hear them chirping in the treetops nearby. My neighbors' bluebird houses and purple martin houses and feeders full of thistle seeds for the goldfinches are awaiting this year's crop of new arrivals.

Winter may finally be ending. But February isn't over yet. And there's still March. Of course, it really isn't spring in Atlanta until the dogwoods and azaleas come out. I can hardly wait.

In case anyone cares, part of the title of this post is from Ecclesiastes chapter 3 in the Bible, courtesy of King Solomon, circa 1000 B.C. The rest of the title (the part in parentheses) is courtesy of Pete Seeger, circa 1950-something A.D. Both parts were popularized by The Byrds, circa 1965.