Whenever this winter is finally dragged out in the road and shot, the spring will come rushing out like sperm whalemen just arrived at Singapore after two years at sea. We will hear explosions of fecundity. Yesterday afternoon brought more snow and sleet and rain and thunder and lightning, and the river kept rising. But spring lies everywhere waiting for the chance. And this morning on the cabin hill, I heard this year's first White-throated Sparrow. The "Poor Tom Peabody-peabody-peabody" is one of my favorite spring songs, and so pretty a bird.

This morning also I discovered the identity of the three-year mystery bird who sings "per-teee-burr." It's the Red-winged blackbird; he blends it within one of his raspy calls that sort of wraps around it, like a bratwurst in a croissant role.

The photos show the rise of the river over three days.

And on the third day, the bobcat waded through the flooded marsh at night and paused contemplatively on the bridge to think of where to go next. He or she looks patient yet but weary of the wait.