Despite the annoying fuzziness provided by my cheap telephoto lens, this is most definitely a robin seen in the trees of our backyard today.
I always thought these fellows went south during winter, and returned to be our first sign of spring. Either this bird is confused, my calendar is wrong, or the legend is incorrect.
A little research educated me. It appears that some robins do migrate. Others hang around. The difference is attributed to food sources rather than the need to keep warm.
I learned that a robin's favorite winter food just happens to be berries (note where he's perched), and despite the heavy ice encrustation, he gobbled down several.
Bottom line: I'm sorry to report that spring is not arriving anytime soon. Seeing a robin is no more an indicator than what we get from Punxutawney Phil the groundhog. Or the local weatherman. Or any other oracle, for that matter.
Despite who (or what) we consult, spring is going to arrive when she decides to come.
And not one single minute before.
