APPLETON — I've been longing for May since late last summer, anticipating the annual spring migration of wood warblers and other colorful songbirds as they wing their way north.

I've been waiting for a few old friends I had not seen since September — eastern kingbirds, gray catbirds, indigo buntings, and Baltimore orioles.

What a thrill it was last week to witness the first "warbler wave" of the season, along the flooded Four Seasons Trail at Gordon Bubolz Nature Preserve.

Even a steady rain and dreary cold could not dampen the mood as I hit migration time right on the mark.

Their colors enthralled me. The bright yellows of Magnolia warblers, yellow warblers, yellow-rumped and blue-winged warblers. The rich slate blue of the rare black-throated blue warbler. The muted greens of Palm warblers, and flashy black-throated green and chestnut-sided warblers. The fiery reds and oranges of American redstarts and the Blackburnian warbler.

Their tiny size of rarely more than five inches in length and bright coloring gives this group of songbirds their collective nickname — the "butterfly birds."

It is one thing to see these birds in a field guide, but to see the images brought to life before my eyes always overwhelms me.

Warbler migration lasts a few short weeks, sometimes just days, right around the early to middle part of May. The first few warm fronts of the season carry them north on south winds, off to the boreal forests of the northern part of the state and Canada to breed.

For birdwatchers, May is the climax of the birding year. Each new sighting easily leads to an obsession to see more, and by the end of the peak migration period, dedicated and determined birders can tally close to 200 species during spring migration.

But as the peak of spring migration draws to a close and I step out of the shadows into the open field, I am greeted by the strongest image thus far of my incredible May. The rain slowly ended and the overcast sky grew slightly brighter. I glanced up to the crown of the tallest maple along the forest edge, where the largest, most richly colored American robin I had ever seen caroled away cheerfully.

Suddenly, the whole experience, the whole month, the whole obsession I have with birds and their lives, was thrown into perspective. The sheer number of different birds I had seen during this period was impressive, some 160 species. Birding that way has its advantages and its disadvantages. Despite their many sparkling colors and their many, varied forms and odd habits, the comfort of strangers is, after all, only temporary.

I glanced up at the familiar robin, warbling high above the preserve, his feathers ruffled comically in the gentle rain, and a tremendous power washed through me as the realization hit home. No matter how many spectacular migrants may be just passing through, no matter how many different species I was able to chalk up, no matter how many different locations I may have explored, here was my true passion for birdwatching.

With a ringing clarity, the robin's caroling echoed across the landscape, like a king atop his throne, proudly claiming his domain. My quest for increasing my numbers had led to a painfully obvious under-appreciation of all the incredible beauty in my own back yard, so to speak, where it has always been.

The highlight of my day, the highlight of my incredible May then, fittingly came in the unexpected form of "just a robin."

The peak of another spectacular migration is passing, and the robin seems to know it, reminding me with his chiming song who the real king of the preserve is and always will be. He is a kind and forgiving soul, the American robin, casually biding his time on the backburner while spring's flashier migrants sweep through like lightning, not to be seen again for another year.

I listen to the cheerful chorus, rising above the constant chatter of tree swallows and siren-song of cardinals, and a welcome peace surrounds me, daylight slowly fading. Never again will I let numbers dim my passion.

Never again will the comfort of strangers replace the kindness and trust of a few special friends. The show may be over. Another spring migration may be winding down, yet the passion burns stronger than ever.