The Quiet Test

Amid the branches, bare and gray,
The bird begins its quiet survey.
Its beak taps lightly, soft and shy,
A test for spring beneath the sky.

Are buds still hard, the winter’s keep,
Or do they soften in their sleep?
Each gentle touch, a hopeful sound,
To sense if life begins to ground.

No songs are sung, no calls are made,
Just careful steps through branch and shade.
The bird moves on, its purpose clear,
To find if spring is drawing near.

The frost still lingers, firm and tight,
But hints of warmth now spark the night.
The buds, though silent, start to swell,
A quiet truth the bird can tell.

And as it flits from twig to stem,
The world prepares to bloom again.
For even now, in winter’s thrall,
The promise whispers: spring will call.

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This photo and poem, The Quiet Test, capture a special moment I noticed right on my back deck. This dark-eyed junco was perched in the branches of my Japanese maple, quietly going about its search. It wasn’t singing or calling, just gently tapping and moving as if it was testing for signs that winter might be loosening its grip.

The poem reflects that careful, hopeful energy as the bird checks the buds for hints of life, feeling for the subtle promise of spring. Even though frost still lingers, there’s this sense of anticipation—like nature knows the change is coming long before we do.

For me, this moment was a quiet reminder of the patience and hope that comes with each season, especially when you stop to really see what’s happening in the world around you.