I've been enjoying a pre-publication copy of The Life of the Skies by Jonathan Rosen. Due out next month, the book is a mixture of birding history, natural history and philosophy.
Some passages will really strike a chord with any devoted birder. Like this one:
"During spring migration, every day I fail to take my binoculars and go to the park I feel a sense of deep loss, and recall Hemingway saying that every day he failed to write was a day closer to death. My wife has often heard me moan, when I'm overwhelmed with work and responsibility, "I'm missing migration!" as if I were somehow part of the flock."
ARRRRG. Is it April yet?