The morning after a night of sleet, snow and freezing rain dawned through an overcast sky. The undersides of heavy, gray clouds turned pink and seemed to scatter farther apart with the rising of the sun.

I took a deep breath as I stepped outside for my early morning walk. The treetops sparkled with their coatings of ice, and crinkled like paper bags whenever a slight breeze blew. This was going to be a rejuvenating walk.

As usual, I carried my binoculars with me. More often than not, I bring them along even if my specific purpose isn’t to look for birds. I learned my lesson early – when I neglected to carry them was when I ended up wanting them the most.

This morning, I suspected I would see many birds congregating around feeders in the neighborhood, and I was not disappointed.

Before I was halfway down my block, I heard the calls of many different birds. Two yards offered seed feeders and excellent cover and perching sites – cedars, pines, tall maples and low brush.

Most noticeable was the boisterous cawing of crows, followed by the chortling and whistling of blue jays.

Then came the assorted chattering of starlings (I like to call them the “snap, crackle and pop” birds). The telltale, descending “whinny” of the downy woodpecker called my attention to two of them as they foraged for insects in the bark of an apple tree.

The more I stood and watched, the more I heard and saw. A purple finch made an appearance, his beautiful wine-colored chest and head glowing in the morning light as he sat in the apple tree. The delicate calls of the chickadees preceded them as they moved through the maples, or flew to and from the feeders. Before long, a flock of goldfinches announced their arrival with their “per-chik-or-ree” flight song and whining, sad-sounding calls. Robins rounded out the repertoire with their trilling calls.

After a while I moved on – I wanted to enjoy the scenes of this wintry morning, to get some exercise, as much as I wanted to watch birds.

The sky was darkening again as I turned toward home. In the distance, I heard what I at first thought were the calls of robins.

I almost dismissed them as such, but a quick check with my binoculars revealed eight evening grosbeaks.

The big finches with the oversized bills perched in a group of maples, calling continuously to each other.

Even in winter, the males of this species retain their brilliant orange-yellow plumage, which contrasts sharply with their dark points. They love sunflower seed and are voracious eaters. A quote from Scott Weidensaul’s book “Living on the Wind” describes this reputation perfectly: A friend of the author’s complained about the amount of seed he put out for the finches over the winter. “They’re not grosbeaks,” the man said, “they’re ‘grospigs.'”

Even so, they’d be a colorful delight in my back yard. And, speaking of such, the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology is gearing up for its fourth annual “Great Backyard Bird Count,” to take place Feb. 16-19.

I’ll have more information about it in next week’s column. Meanwhile, if you have Internet access, check out the lab’s site at http://www.birdsource.org/gbbc/how.htm.

Chris Corio is a volunteer for the Fields Pond Nature Center. She can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com.