Around the country the sounds of nature are heralding in spring. In New Hampshire the plaintive wail of the loon, silent in the winter, echoes across Lake Winnipeauskee as he searches for a mate. In Ohio, as the ground thaws, the Northern Spring Peeper comes to life and fills the night with repetitive chirps creating a cacophony of love songs, discernible only to other miniature frogs. The sweet song of the solitary robin drifts into a Maryland window to delight the late sleeper and alert them that spring is at hand.
In northeast Florida spring comes suddenly in early March with a low, throaty rumble. The sound is faint at first as the day awakens. Slowly it builds as the harbingers of spring gather, singles, then couples, in the annual pilgrimage. They buzz about, nearly deafening the casual observer as they flit ahead, then beside, then behind you, like a swarm of bees relocating their hive.
It is Bike Week in Daytona Beach.
The rumble of the motors fills even the sleepy little beach towns. It drowns out the sound of the waves on the beach and obscures the song of the mockingbird. Even the red headed woodpecker's drumming on the metal roof flashing cannot compete with the pulsing combustion engines. The sound carries on the breeze and faintly fills the quiet bedroom, the bikers cruise late into the night. The hardiest of the breed are up at dawn, drawn to the sight of the sun rising over the ocean, and offering a wake up call to locals.
Having announced the advent of spring, the flurry of activity fades and the motorcycles are loaded into trailers, silenced for their trip home. But they will be back next year, like all of Mother Nature's alarm clocks, to let us know winter is over and to usher in the new season.
In northeast Florida spring comes suddenly in early March with a low, throaty rumble. The sound is faint at first as the day awakens. Slowly it builds as the harbingers of spring gather, singles, then couples, in the annual pilgrimage. They buzz about, nearly deafening the casual observer as they flit ahead, then beside, then behind you, like a swarm of bees relocating their hive.
It is Bike Week in Daytona Beach.
The rumble of the motors fills even the sleepy little beach towns. It drowns out the sound of the waves on the beach and obscures the song of the mockingbird. Even the red headed woodpecker's drumming on the metal roof flashing cannot compete with the pulsing combustion engines. The sound carries on the breeze and faintly fills the quiet bedroom, the bikers cruise late into the night. The hardiest of the breed are up at dawn, drawn to the sight of the sun rising over the ocean, and offering a wake up call to locals.
Having announced the advent of spring, the flurry of activity fades and the motorcycles are loaded into trailers, silenced for their trip home. But they will be back next year, like all of Mother Nature's alarm clocks, to let us know winter is over and to usher in the new season.
This is beautifully written- nearly poetic.
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