By Burt Glover

I cannot think of a more appropriate symbol of love than the cardinal. Here in the Valentine season, flocks of bright red males can be seen gathering at the edge of thickets and hedgerows, looking every bit like brilliant heart ornaments in the branches. Of course, the duller, reddish-brown females are sure to be nearby.

It is widely believed the Cardinals mate for life. Each pair shares its own slight variations of the regular cardinal song. In the coming weeks, watch these birds closely. The male will break away from the winter flock, take to some high branch — perhaps among the newly emerged maple flowers — and burst forth in sweet song. If you listen closely, often times you’ll hear his lady nearby, singing a duet with him. Her song tends to be softer, but longer and duration and slightly more complex.

John James Audubon described it thusly:

“During the love-season the song is emitted with increased emphasis by this proud musician, who, as if aware of his powers, swells his throat, spreads his rosy tail, droops his wings, and leans alternately to the right and left, as if on the eve of expiring with delight at the delicious sounds of his own voice. Again and again are those melodies repeated, the bird resting only at intervals to breathe.”

It is during this time of love that the female will oftentimes perch in the lower branches as the male hops around on the ground below searching for food. Once a suitable morsel is found, he flies up to the female’s side and feeds it to her. In these tender moments, it is almost as if they are kissing. It’s enough to melt a fella’s heart.

Cardinal couples share the day-to-day duties of life, and they seem to do it happily. His sweetheart is there for him, for life, and yet he puts so much effort into courting her and winning her love. Come what may, she is always by his side, sharing a morsel of food and song. Can there be a more pure symbol of love than this?

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Contributor Burt Glover became an accidental naturalist during his earliest childhood days exploring the dirt roads, backyards, polo field and barns of the Magnolia-Knox-Mead neighborhood of 1950s Aiken. Birds are his first love, and he can identify an impressive range by song alone. He asserts that he is an observer, not an expert, on the topics of his writings, which range from birds, box turtles, frogs and foraging, to wasps, weeds, weather and beyond.