The vernal equinox, the day when the length of day and night are the same, passed on March 20. Spring has officially arrived. Days are getting longer and despite still chilly weather, plants, animals and birds are responding.

Tree buds are swelling, crimson and chartreuse. In the freshwater wetlands, Skunk cabbage is heating its way out of the chilly soil. Skunk cabbage has a remarkable ability to produce heat. The flower buds can warm up to 70 degrees F, which melts the snow around the plant, allowing it to emerge and bloom even when the ground is still frozen.

Early blooming non-native flowers like crocus, daffodils and forsythia are giving honeybees a fresh meal after winter. Our native bees emerge a little later when native plants start to bloom.

Right now most perennials are just rosettes of leaves tucked low to the ground, but soon they will be sending up stalks that will be adorned with flowers in the summer. Native grasses are starting to send up small green shoots and last year’s stalks should be cut back.

The changing of the guard has started. Winter visitor birds like White-throated Sparrow and Dark-eyed Junco are disappearing from feeders. The ducks that think winter on LI is a nice holiday; Scaup, Longtail, Mergansers, and Buffleheads, are heading back up north to breed.

The first warblers are venturing north from Florida, Mexico and the Caribbean. Shorebirds will also be leaving their wintering grounds to head to our beaches. This cycle has played out for millennia, the ebb and flow of seasons setting the rhythms of life, the rebirth of spring, the little death of winter.

But onward to April, the month of mud and renewal.
“April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.’’
T.S. Elliot The Wasteland

Don’t let a few warm days fool you, our official frost-free date is Mother’s Day. Soon the air will carry an augury of warmth, more enticing and seductive than any siren. More dangerous too, luring the unwary to send tender impatiens to an icy doom before the ides of May. So turn firmly away from the tempting displays in the nurseries and instead head out to the woods and fields.

I thought briefly of turning this column into a dire warning of springs that ain’t what they used to be, a reminder of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, but there is enough grimness in the world right now.

So instead, I want you to get up and go outside. No phone, no earbuds. Really look and listen to the world out there; the bird song, the wind chasing the clouds, the tree buds beginning to unfurl in astonishing shades of scarlet, lime and saffron.

Breathe deeply, the air has changed, even chill, it still carries a hint of summer to come. The “same” walk is never really the same if you are observant, there is always something new to see, hear or smell. Be reminded of why the nature outside our homes needs to be preserved.

This season is the slow, sensuous stretch before the frenetic explosion of full-tilt spring, a time of transition, as the days grow longer and sunlight soaks deep into the soil, calling to the sleepers. Listen, a memory of the oldest song echoes over the hills and far away, a vernal summons of life from the darkness.