Yesterday, it felt like we lived in a snow globe all morning. Big flakes whirled around and drifted reluctantly to the patches of mud and color-starved grass that were emerging from the past weeks’ snow cover. It was just enough to restore a thin blanket over the ground.

Then, in the afternoon, the maple out front was suddenly filled with robins. They sat and hopped and clucked and fluttered to the holly to eat berries and generally reassured us that spring is around the corner.

As a child, the first robin was always the harbinger of spring. Some things you never outgrow.

Before starting out to visit the refuge, I practiced on a few earth-dwellers in our yard.

It’s nice to know the critters have good personal hygiene…

Our aim in visiting the refuge was to see birds — usually raptors and waterbirds. The entry in seemed promising as we saw a bald eagle perched in a tree.

But generally speaking, it was the yellow warblers that stole the show.

We heard chestnut-sided warblers and yellowthroats, and we were hoping to see a cerulean warbler. The yellows were the only ones who cooperated, though. Good thing they’re so beautiful.

There were a few more common sights as well.

We saw several ospreys, some geese, a couple of sand hill cranes, some orioles and some cedar waxwings.

Returning home, we marveled again at the number of species frequenting our bird feeder. The most unusual visitor is the pileated woodpecker, but we’ve enjoyed the orioles this year as well.

There’s always a group of squirrels and chipmunks feasting on the dropped seed. This one kept rushing the others, and my daughter decided to fly her drone out from the kitchen window to see if it would startle him enough to have better manners.

He was, obviously, unfazed and applied himself steadily to eating.

In trying out the new camera my husband blessed me with, my most cooperative subject was a song sparrow. There were other birds around — a yellow throat, a yellow warbler, a redstart. The sparrow is the least exotic and colorful. Yet a close look shows even sparrows to be remarkably varied.

My camera is off to a Canon service center to get its autofocus repaired. Some internal problem keeps it from getting sharply focused images. That leaves me with eyes, binoculars, and ears for processing the season.

It’s a blessing in a way, because I’ve been reminded of how much I’ve learned about my place since I started paying attention. Just listening out the windows and around the yard, I’ve heard:

• Rose-breasted grosbeaks
• Orioles
• Catbirds
• A veery
• A hermit thrush
• A chestnut-sided warbler
• Chickadees
• House wrens
• Carolina wrens
• Robins
• Titmice
• Nuthatches
• Blue jays
• Cardinals
• A blue wing
• Song sparrows
• Chipping sparrows
• White-throated sparrows

At a friend’s house, I added:

• An oven bird
• A common yellow throat
• A field sparrow

It’s quite the symphony. Other birds — cedar waxwings, ruby-throated hummingbirds, juncoes, white crowned sparrows, and yellow-rumped and blackburnian warblers — also have songs, but they are often so high pitched that I don’t notice them. They tend to blend in with other kinds of sounds in the neighborhood. I’ve seen these birds here too in recent days, either passing through on their way northward or settling in and staking their territorial claims.

How many other creatures are there out there that I’m not aware of yet? Before learning these birds, the spring brought an indistinguishable barrage of sound, but without knowing who was contributing what songs it was not “readable” or “hearable.” Now I recognize it as intricate orchestral score that showcases the individual themes of any number of birds singing simultaneously, calling and responding to establish property lines, attract mates, or stay together in migration.

The more you look, the more you see — and hear.