(Ed. Note: The writer is an associate professor of sociology at Adelphi University and a Woodbury resident.)

I particularly like the end of March when winter's bitter chill is leaving and spring's first buds are arriving. Slushy mounds of snow are gone from the Greenbelt Trail leaving occasional muddy sections. One day I note small areas of green on the trailside that weren't here just a few days ago. Coming to a downhill area of the trail, the woods are suddenly alive with birds and their sounds. Minutes ago I had been admiring the low afternoon sun glinting off the yellow eye of a mocking bird as it traveled from branch to branch, occasionally eating a berry. Now I spot a black-capped chickadee and over there on a tree are three small woodpeckers. I watch as one of the woodpeckers flies down to a lower part of the tree. The underside of its outstretched wings has a white dotted pattern giving it the appearance of parachuting toward me. Another seems to like pecking at the bark of old trees and puts something into its bill. Is it stocking up today because it knows snow is coming tomorrow?

The next day winter doubles back and it snows. Streets turn thick with slush and car windows are buried deep in snow. Trees are half covered as if they are part of a painting in progress. Peering into the distance there is a beautifully eerie white haze covering everything. The following day driving along the service road of the expressway I spot a red-tailed hawk on a tree. The pale raptor perches quietly beneath a gray sky and a white landscape below. Just when it looks like it is going to stay a while the hawk lifts off almost clumsily, flapping its large wings and slowly crossing the expressway. Its white belly and underwings are the perfect winter camouflage. This raptor isn't acting like it's expecting winter to leave just yet.

Later that afternoon looking at the dimming light an elegant smooth-as-suede, charcoal gray shape appears on a bush. Getting a better look I see that it has a dark rust breast. It is a robin and is quickly joined by a second one. They fly to another bush perching there with their rust breasts puffed out. Their defiant pose suggests that they are here to stay and winter's time is running out.

The first calendar day of spring is sunny and cold. Melting snow drips off roofs, but still covers the Greenbelt Trail. Bare scrub branches are weighted by snow. A few robins uncharacteristically perch atop tall trees surveying the scene. Are they checking out potential nest sites?

Coming back from a walk I turn onto a hilly street and notice a large unmoving shape facing me from a tall tree. It's a red-trailed hawk and the stolid raptor doesn't even turn its head as I watch it. Moving to the center of the road for a view unobstructed by buds on the tree, I see perhaps 20-feet below another hawk with its rust tail facing me. They perch quietly one above the other. After a few minutes with no warning the first one flies to another tree. I walk around in front of the remaining hawk, admiring its brown speckled chest and its feathers ruffling in the breeze. This one looks around occasionally but it's not going anywhere. Perhaps it, too, was waiting for spring.

The next morning, most of the snow having melted, was milder. The woods were a dull brown but with a slight golden hue. Trees half wet seemed almost at rest waiting for spring's rebirth. A lone male red-winged blackbird was on a bare branch. Twitching its tail up and down and back and forth like a samurai, it sounded a few high trilled calls but soon stopped. There were no others to signal that this was his territory. In another few weeks tall bush tops will probably be alive with competitors' calls. Soon I'll be able to walk in the woods hearing the sounds of soft drizzle falling and listening to the call of a bright red male cardinal. This morning, however, the early arriving red-winged blackbird is a clear sign that spring's false starts and winter's doubling back are coming to an end and that the landscape will soon be turning various shades of green.