The Magic of Springtime

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Every year in early May, I spend three to six hours each morning at nearby Mt. Auburn Cemetery. Why? you may wonder. Well, Mt. Auburn, with its woodlands, lakes, and gardens, is a magnet for songbirds during their annual spring migration. They fly in by the hundreds on the way north from South and Central America. Some of them nest in the cemetery; others continue further to northern New England and Canada. But during the small window of time that they grace our local flowering trees and bushes, birdwatchers are blessed with up-close views of the colorful and musical birds of the tropics. Each year, I see or hear something new: a chestnut-sided warbler and a ruby-throated hummingbird having a territorial face-off; a flycatcher singing right next to a kinglet displaying its usually hidden ruby crown; a Baltimore oriole weaving a hanging basket nest in a tall maple tree; a wood thrush singing its fluted song on the ground a few feet in front of me. These moments are magical—a fleeting glimpse into nature’s secret world.
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