It's Truly Spring. I hear it.

Trail Wood #80 Earl Plato
Edwin Way Teale heading home, is greeted by a familiar spring visitor.
“ Pausing in the sunset halfway across the pasture on my way home from the woods, I listen to one of the first robin songs of the season. (It’s April 17th) It descends ,from the upmost branch of the highest hickory beyond the house. It is from the identical limb, then bare bow stippled with the green of unfolding leaves where a goshawk from the north once rode zero winds of January.
Characteristically the voices of most thrushes flow and sweep like the music of violins or woodwind instruments. But not that of the robin. Instead it suggests to me the music of the piano, loud and clear, the notes are pounded out They come a separate sounds. Nor is there in the voice of the robin any of the musing, reflective quality of its relative, the hermit thrush of the dark north woods. Nor is there any of that soaring spiritual intensity inherent in the organ tones of the evening wood thrush.
But now filled with good cheer and well-being is the voice of the robin. It is the sound of health and energy, of courage and confidence. It is a voice particularly in accord with the season, this time of optimism, of returning life, when all seems well. It is the cheerful song of the spring.”