Hearing is believing.
A passage from April, in All Nature Sings: A Spiritual Journey of Place:
Already the finches are sprouting their yellow feathers—dapple green isn’t going to attract the ladies. Oh, the calls all those birds make this time of year. It’s downright noisy early in the morning, as male and female try to attract each other from the treetops.
The redwing blackbirds call with a clear, pure sound. I hear the scratchy caw of the sandhill crane long before I see their long, flexible necks waving above last year’s grasses.
Yesterday one sandhill called and another answered from somewhere across the tail of the lake. I imagine she had found a place to call home and wanted him to join her. Many birds fill the air with sound but move too fast for me to identify. In April I always wish I knew more about birds and their habits. But this much I know: They have survived the winter and have come out singing!