My current routine is to hang around the house on these cold foggy mornings, packing up boxes for our move to Salem. When the fog starts to clear by the middle of the day, I bolt down some lunch and dash out the door to catch the best birding of the day. There is that magical time each day when the sun warms everything up to a certain point and all the bird life seems to enliven the world. Today was such a day, and as I walked out Mehl Canyon Road, the Western Meadowlarks started up their melodious song. Their song always reminds me of Spring, and mid-day today it seemed like spring, the temperature was almost sixty degrees, the fields were greening up from summer browns, and the meadowlarks were singing. Hard to beat. Buster walked with me the couple of miles out until we got to the old orchard that is my turn around point. As we turned back to retrace our route the wind picked up and the leaves began cascading down. It was a reminder, that this is not Spring but Fall. But then, the meadowlarks seemed confused too.