“Listen for it,” he said.

“For what?”

“For the trill of the robin.  You could hear it any day now.”

“What?  It’s not even the middle of December.”

He chuckled.  “You think I don’t know that?”

“But it’s winter.”

“I know.  But listen anyway.  Don’t you remember that one winter you saw a robin out hopping around in the snow?”

“Sure do.  It’s hard for me to reconcile something like that.  I hear the first trill of the robin, and I get all excited spring is on the way.  We have a few days where it feels like spring, even smells like it, and then we get a blizzard.  I can hardly bear that, when I have my hopes all up and then they come shrieking to a halt with the first blast of snow.  Besides, I’ve always wondered how those poor birds keep their feet warm, standing around in the snow like that.  But I do remember the winter you talk about.  I even remember hearing that robin sing out there in the snow.”

“Yeah, I know it frustrates you.  You’d like everything orderly, in its place, all predictable and zipped up in a pretty package, seasons not excepting. 

Have you ever truly enjoyed those brief spring days that surprise you?  Or do you spend all day muttering about how you need to have a full wardrobe of clothes in your truck.  Coats for the morning, jackets for noon, and short sleeves for afternoon, maybe even a raincoat, muck boots and regular shoes.

Those spring days are priceless, if you’ll just look at them that way.  I send them because of your winter.  I send them as a spoonful of hope.  I send them to sparkle up your tattered grey skies with brilliant sunshine with glorified joy.  I send them, because you need them, even if you don’t realize it and grumble about them when you know you have two months of winter left to go.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  Listen for the trill of the robin.  You could hear it any day now.”

Song of Solomon 2 : 11-13