This season has no name. It falls between winter (when we can count on snow and cold) and spring (when we can hope for lilacs out of the dead land).
There being not many buds and not any berries yet, the redpolls keep coming to the feeder and to the detritus of seeds dropped in all the excitement through the winter: seeds now exposed as the drifts slowly melt/sublimate. And so it is that the redpolls get my first haiku.
Sun-crust forms on drifts.
Short beak digs for scattered seeds;
talons grip the snow.