“Spring is when you feel like whistling, even with a shoe full of slush.”

—  Doug Larson

Fickle Spring has come to town.  One day we dash out on errands in shirt sleeves, and the next we find ourselves sliding on last night’s sleet on our way to the car.  ”My car door was frozen shut,” remarked my sweetheart on his way back inside to retrieve his forgotten lunch.  It’s funny.  When I look out the window, all I see is sunshine and the first glint of green on the lawn.  With a resolute sigh, I find myself heading upstairs to trade my t-shirt for a turtleneck before venturing out to my morning class.

As I sit and read the newspaper and enjoy a bowl of oatmeal, suddenly I am distracted by a whistling sound outside the window.  I turn toward the whistle, but nothing is there.  I think of the cold air that will hit me when I walk out the door, and I shiver in anticipation.  Again the whistling calls me.  This time I walk to the front door and open it.  I look toward the side yard and see the persistent singer.  I tiny sparrow cocks his head and looks right at me.  He whistles again.  ”I hear you,” I tell him.  ”What’s with this weather?”  I move closer and soon find that I’m standing only three feet from my feathered friend.  He stands his ground and soon we are conversing.  ”Wait right here,” I tell him.  ”I’ll be back in a minute.”

I grab my camera from the desk and go back to the porch.  There have been many times when I’ve made the same trip only to discover that my bird buddy has moved on to greener trees.  For a moment I think he has flown.  Then I notice a flutter on the other side of the bush; and the little fellow flies as close as he can get without sacrificing a perch.  He whistles again, cocking his head from side to side, as if to say, “what are you waiting for?  ”What,” I ask him, “are you going to pose for me?”  And he does.

Fickle Spring.  You just never know what to expect from day to day.  Sunshine and sleet.  Whistling wind and whistling birds.  And, now and then, an unexpected friendship.  I shook the slush out of my shoe, put the lens cap on the camera, and whistled my way back inside.