Most people think of spring as the season for listening to birds — with good reason. Spring is when the most birds are singing, performing those nesting season declarations of presence and prowess that fade away in fall. But that doesn’t mean we should stop listening to birds in winter. The world of birds is never silent, and careful attention to the winter soundscape will reveal two things that could otherwise go unnoticed: the presence of winter birds that were far away in summer, and the first glimmers of the nesting season, long before we humans think of spring.

First, let’s set the stage. Many birds sing during the spring nesting season. Additionally, essentially all birds perform “calls” — this is the catch-all term used for all other vocalizations used to stay in touch with partners or flock members, express alarm, signal aggression or anything else birds wish to communicate. A good part of our winter soundscape, then, is composed of the essentially unchanged repertoire of calls performed by our year-round, non-migratory birds: jays, woodpeckers, titmice, house finches, goldfinches and more will be heard at any time of the year.

But those aren’t the only birds you will hear now, in January. Listen closely, around a backyard feeding station if you have one. Do you hear rather anonymous, quick, high “sreet” notes coming from the bushes? Maybe you can spot a few white-crowned sparrows, one of our most abundant winter birds. Or perhaps harsh, rising “zipper” calls are pouring forth from the trees — have you seen any pine siskins at your feeders? These streaky little finches with yellow highlights are present year-round in Marin’s forests, but many backyards only see them in winter when additional migrants come down from the north. Or perhaps a snappy, doubled “jid-dit” is moving through the foliage: that sound reveals the presence of the ruby-crowned kinglet, a mostly insectivorous winter bird that sometimes visits suet feeders.

Other winter additions to the neighborhood do not come to feeders, but, like all birds, are revealed by a careful attention to the sounds of the season. I rarely go for a half-hour walk in the neighborhood without hearing the resounding trumpet call of the northern flicker, a loud, descending “keeeer” note that can be heard from a great distance, even when the bird is entirely invisible, perched in some tree on the far end of the block. Muted “chup” notes from the understory are usually the first hint of the presence of the hermit thrush, a shy but common winter bird that usually stays well hidden. Meanwhile, robins whinny like horses and cedar waxwings blow their high, seething whistles while clustered in the treetops. You may notice some of these birds eventually by sight — watch birdbaths for flickers and hermit thrushes and berry-bearing trees for robins and waxwings — but knowing their sounds will at least triple your rate of detection.

All of these birds are autumn arrivals, absent (or much less numerous) in late spring and summer. There is also another new vein of sound in the January birdscape: the beginning of courtship for early-nesting birds, essentially all of whom have been here all along. (Migratory spring birds mostly won’t be here for another few months.) Male Anna’s hummingbirds display for females with both a squeaky, jumbly song and dramatic dives punctuated by a loud “pop!” at the bottom as they flare their tail feathers against the resistant air. Red-shouldered hawks issue their insistent, repeated calls that ring throughout the neighborhood in the day, while great horned owls sing their duets in the evening. Oak titmice are among the earliest-nesting of our songbirds and have already begun to sing: a strong, clear song of up-and-down couplets, sometimes rendered as “peto peto peto.”

Hang up a feeder, go for a walk or simply open your windows. Listen for 10 minutes and you will not fail to hear some kind of bird, or perhaps several. There is a good chance you will hear one of the sounds I’ve described today: a bird that flew 1,000 miles to arrive outside your door, or a bird that strives with all its force to find the pairing that it longs for.

Jack Gedney is a co-owner of Wild Birds Unlimited in Novato and the author of “The Birds in the Oaks: Secret Voices of the Western Woods.” You can reach him at jack@natureinnovato.com.