I was taking a quiet walk around the field when I stopped at the forest edge, right where the line of mowed lawn gives way to something wilder. The grasses there were no longer tall or colourful, just the pale skeletons of goldenrod and asters, bent and brittle after weeks of cold. Beyond them, the tree line stood dark and still. I might have kept walking, but a small flicker of movement caught my eye.
A little group of chickadees was busy in the dead grasses. They hopped from stem to stem, chattering softly, tugging at seeds. Each time one landed, the goldenrod tipped under its weight, the bird hanging upside down for a moment before flitting to the next plant. It was a small scene, easy to miss, but it made me pause. The past few weeks had felt especially quiet as winter settled in, and here was this pocket of motion and sound, carrying on without ceremony.
Chickadees don’t wait for better conditions. They take what the season offers and keep moving, light and alert, trusting that the seeds they need are already there. There was something comforting in that, especially at this time of year when it’s easy to feel stalled or dulled by the cold and dark. Not everything needs to burst or bloom to be alive. Some things simply continue, small and steady, tucked into the margins.
If today allows, step outside and linger at the edge of something, a tree line, a fence row, a corner of the yard that’s gone a bit wild. Stay longer than you usually would. See if there’s any movement hiding in what first looks still, and notice what changes when you give it your full attention for a few minutes.
