Forecasters predict the weather. Birds reveal it.

The snow barely covered the ground again, a second pre-dawn dusting in as just about as many days. The deck stairs are still iced underneath, though you wouldn’t notice unless you’ve been walking up and down every morning while the mercury hovers stubbornly below freezing.

Not checking the weather every day does two things: it makes mornings like this—everything frosted in a confectioner’s way and rather unexpected—feel like a little gift. And it makes dressing for the day a bit of a gamble.

So I hedge my bets. I leave the forecasts to the meteorologists and ignore them entirely. After all, I can tell the wind’s direction just by watching the birds land—they, like planes, always face into it. Feathers work best when they aren’t ruffled I suppose.

But It’s Just a Bird. And That’s the Beauty of It.

Today, like most days, I watched the birds in my yard. They are fascinating messengers once you start reading their cues. They are also teachers. A few years ago, a bird to me was just…a bird. A creature with feathers.

But nearly a decade of observing my yard as it subtly changes season after season has taught me otherwise. And adding more wildlife-friendly plants and trees only makes it harder to look away. There is always something to notice. The way certain birds can open seeds with only the crunch of their beak while others hold them precisely between their toes. While others will require a crevasse or wedge to pry them open with their beak. And even more? There are birds caching seeds, holding the goods for a later date.

This morning, after the snow started losing ground to the sun, I squinted—not at the sunlight, but at the feathers, the beak, the supercilium (a fancy word for the plumage stripe above the eye). Where did you come from, Mrs. Purple Finch?

She’s a plain brown bird, in many eyes. Some may even say gray. But to me, she is a little spark on a cold winter morning. Beautiful, fleeting, and entirely worth noticing. It had been nearly a year since I last saw one. Maybe not checking the weather is a bold move. Not knowing this bird was going to be there on a plain Friday afternoon made that sighting all the more fun.

Author’s note: I’m calling this bird a female, but there’s about a 55% chance she’s a juvenile male whose feathers are just starting to show their season’s colors. Either way, she’s a delightful visitor. The blog’s featured image as well as those below, are from last winter, while the photo above was taken just now, at the time of writing.

There are differences as slight as the notch in their tail: purple finches being more of a notch than flat at the tip. Also note the red wash nearly down the entire belly on the purple finch.