A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. — Chinese Proverb

In the woods and open spaces, nature is evident in an insistently overwhelming way. But in the more urban places, where she insinuates herself more subtly, we are challenged at every turn to remain vigilant and to keep honing our vision if we are to see the small processes that go on behind the scenes.

High up in a nearby tree, a pair of woodpeckers has been building and tending a nest now for several weeks. I’ve been way off-base in the past about bird species, but this time, I think I have it correctly. The very busy and protective pair I’ve been observing these last weeks are male and female red-bellied woodpeckers. After researching their information in several reliable books, I’ve come to the conclusion that, while they are deemed somewhat rare in this part of the country, their range has slowly been extending over the last several years to as far north as the southern Canadian border. They like sparse woodlands and, lucky for me, they sometimes select an urban area in which to breed.

The colorful birds take turns sitting inside the hole, causing me to wonder how many rooms are in their hollowed-out palace. Research indicates that some can be as much as a foot deep inside a tree trunk, with the very bottom, or actual nest area, a collection of wood shavings created during the hole-boring process. I hear the birds and look up often, with and without field glasses, to see one or both clinging to the side of the tree or poking their heads out from the hole. During the last few days, one of the parents has been flying to the hole and hanging there awhile, poking its head in, and I suspect it is feeding whatever young are nestled safely inside. In a flash, it’s gone, only to return a few moments later to repeat the process. The presence of these woodpeckers here in this noisy, busy area is living proof of nature’s way of sharing her wonders in even the most unexpected places.

In the “apartment” just above them, it seems that a pair of European starlings has taken up residence and is now in the process of nurturing its as-yet-unseen brood. They put up a real ruckus whenever I go out to my car, lifting their feathers high in consternation at my presence, and then just as quickly settling down once I’m back inside where I can watch their antics from a window.

A new song caught my ear one day last week, and I looked into the shrub beyond the fence in a neighboring yard just in time to see a Baltimore oriole flitting among its branches. Its brilliant, orange plumage flashed among the leaves and white blossoms before it flew off into a higher tree nearby, where it continued its song, perhaps to attract a mate or to warn of impending danger. I watched it for some time before it flew away altogether, and was inwardly thankful for the small gift of its sighting. This bird is among those that prefer more urban areas where there is plenty of open space between the trees and shrubs that delineate the boundaries of the various properties along this stretch of road. And the tall, rounded maples that grow in many of these yards seem to offer just the type of protection it needs once night falls or during bad weather.

Among the newer visitors to the bird feeder are a pair of house finches. They’re easily confused with purple finches, as the bright crimson wash that both species seem to have been dipped in is very similar. But the house finch is smaller and its red is not quite as reminiscent of raspberry juice. As with many species, the females are a dull, striped grayish-brown, and don’t stand out at all. These birds prefer the black-oil sunflower seed to just about any other type of food, while the house sparrows and grackles continue to avail themselves of the smaller seed that my neighbor has put out for them. Amazingly enough, what would take us two hands to accomplish requires only their beaks, as they deftly move the shells around while cracking them open, extract the kernel, then drop the debris before moving on to the next seed. It is a feat of dexterity that never ceases to amaze me.

I’m often struck by the freedom these feathered creatures exhibit as they spend their days in search of food and shelter. While they are to a great extent dominated by their instinctive needs and, as such, exposed to certain dangers in the process, their energies and attentions are entirely focused on their survival. No other entity dictates their actions or governs their activities, and it is often with such abandon that they seem to fly from place to place, unmindful of what goes on along the great, curved plane just below them.

How often am I saved or my soul lifted by their song? How often during any given day, when things seem bleakest, am I redeemed by the robin’s trilling or the house sparrow’s busy chattering? Birds do what they do because of an unspoken need to conform to the ways of their species. Important to the grand scheme of things, instrumental in such tasks as insect control and flower pollination, their greatest glory is in their plumage and in their song. From the dull, olive-colored female goldfinch to the gloriously crimson male cardinal, each inserts its own unique note into the greater symphony, insinuating itself into the human cacophony, announcing a new day, or ushering one out at sunset.

No matter where we happen to be, one thing is certain: We can count on the fact that some type of bird will not be very far away. And if we happen not to have a song in our hearts at the moment, it will surely have one to share with us. All other practicalities aside, it’s what birds do: Fill our world with vibrant, living color and, best of all, music.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Springvale, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.