Spring was definately here today.
Chiffchaffs singing - now out of the valley, and a Blackcap as well.
Plus Brimstone and (I think) a Peacock butterflies.
So spring returns the cycle starts again.
But what if it didnt.
Here a passage from Aldo Leopold's A Sand County Almanac on the death of the Passenger Pigeon.
There will always be pigeeons in books and in museums, but these are effigies and images, dead to all hardships and to all delights. Book-pigeons cannot dive out of a cloud to make the deer run for cover, or clap their wings in thunderous applause of mastladen woods. Book-pigeons cannot breakfast on new mown wheat in Minnesota, and dine on blueberries in Canada. They know no urge of seasons; they feel no kiss of sun, no lash of wind and weather. They live forever by not living at all.
May be we will learn - but not in time I think.
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