Near the east entrance into the University of Maine’s Fogler Library, where I work, the first small spring crocuses are poking out of the sodden earth. So far they are tiny and few, but they haven’t escaped notice.

“Have you seen the crocuses yet?”

“The crocuses in front of the library are up!”

The corresponding difference in people’s demeanors was remarkable; they wore big smiles and walked as if they were 100 pounds lighter. I marveled at the rejuvenating power of spring.

A fellow birder also noted the flowers, but added his own qualifying statement: “Soon the warblers will be back!”

I agreed with him wholeheartedly, for I also look forward to this sign of spring. Wood warblers are colorful virtuosos, exciting to see and to hear. But they are latecomers when compared to our other migrants – some of which have already arrived.

I subscribe to a birding e-mail list and have been making note of all the returning migrants people are seeing. Sometimes it is just a dry statement or two: “noticed first fox sparrow today,” but there have been a few e-mails the have made me smile.

Scott Cronenweth of York summed up the essential spirit of the season.

“Just this minute heard that beloved PEENT of the first woodcock of the season here in York. Is spring not here, and are we not wicked grateful?” Cronenweth wrote.

I have yet to hear the first woodcock here in Orono – I just haven’t been able to get out at the right time of the evening. But the “peent” calls and elaborate, slightly crazy flight displays of the American woodcock are for me one of the most joyful initiations into spring.

So too are the liquid calls of the red-winged blackbirds. Their notes seem to contain the entire, awesome story of spring’s triumph over winter: the vanishing snow and ice, the rush of melt water, the scent of awakening wetlands, the caress of a temperate breeze. Such is the information I glean from these songs.

Not to be outdone, the robins have been making themselves heard – and then some. Last week I saw a huge congregation of them; they were in the trees, in the air, and on the ground. They kept up a continuous farrago of sound, whinnying, chortling, and singing their signature song: “cheerily-lee, cheerily-up,” over and over again. They never stayed in one place for long; there was a constant coming and going in what seemed to me an atmosphere charged with impatience and excitement. I knew how they felt.

Is spring not here, and are we not wicked grateful?

Chris Corio, a volunteer at Fields Pond Nature Center in Holden, can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com