Yesterday was the first day of spring; the vernal equinox when the sun is at zenith over the equator. The earliest in over a century. Sorry Southern hemisphere dwellers; Autumn is upon you, Summer Dying Fast. Back here, in the North, we have the resurgence of life and a general increase in temperature to look forward to. You know the drill, you've seen spring before.
The local wildlife immediately began celebrations. When I opened the window I immediately had to close it again to prevent midge infestation. A huge amorphous spinning crowd of the little twats had formed right outside the window. As one they performed that seemingly meaningless random dance that presumably has some highly important social or sexual function. Staring at this swirling vortex of tiny wings my focus suddenly shifted to a flutter of feathers in the bare branches of the tree directly outside:
One Romeo pigeon leapt onto the back of his lovey dovey, depositing his spermatozoa into her cloaca, flapped about a bit, hopped off, perched beside her for a couple of minutes, then flew away to a higher branch. Love is in the air. I'm just glad birds don't reproduce in the same way fish do, otherwise it'd be more than the weather and the pollen count that we'd have to worry about. Fish, as it is so delightfully described on Wikipedia, reproduce "with the male and female fish shedding their gametes into the surrounding water". Delightful. I don't know about you, but I'm happy for birds to continue with their presently preferred method.
Today is the second day of spring, and as yet no wildlife have displayed their behaviour in my vicinity. Unless they have and I've already become desensitised to the naturalistic orgiastic filth crawling, slavering, slopping and slutting their immoral ways across the seas, surfaces and skies. So, er, yeah, spring is here. Good times.