This morning, as I bundled up for another brisk winter day, I heard something that made me pause: birds chirping. Yes, real, live birds singing their little hearts out—just days after Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow and dashed all our hopes for an early spring. It’s like the birds didn’t get the memo. And for that, I’m grateful.

There’s something beautifully rebellious about these birds, chirping away like they’re auditioning for a Disney movie while the rest of us are resigned to another six weeks of winter misery. They’re defying groundhog logic, as if to say, “We don’t care about Phil and his shadow games, we’re bringing the joy now.”

Hearing them brought an unexpected smile to my lips. In the middle of my usual morning hustle, distracted by emails, texts, and all the demands that come with the day, I stopped—just for a second. I listened to their melody, a tiny, precious gift amidst the cold and chaos. In that moment, it didn’t matter that winter had supposedly been extended. Spring, with all its hope and new beginnings, was singing to me right then and there.

And maybe that’s the lesson from these birds: we don’t have to wait for some official signal or shadow to start living, to smile, or to embrace a little warmth in our lives. Maybe we just need to listen for it, even on the coldest mornings. The birds don’t wait for permission, so why should we?