One thing I’ve learned from the northern cardinals nesting beside our home is that the adult birds don’t like us around.

 At 8 a.m. one day last week, I stood in the yard more than 50 feet away, around the back of the house and out of sight of the nest. Nonetheless, the male cardinal came swooping at my head before retreating into a backyard thicket.

 The bird proceeded to flutter from his perch, while producing an array of guttural chips and chirps in apparent consternation at my presence.

 The reason I was in the backyard was to watch locally nesting chimney swifts twitter through it. Several swifts in a squadron-like collection flew speedily just 20 to 30 feet overhead. Usually the swifts stick to higher altitudes in the neighborhood.

 Even with the cardinal clucking and the swifts chittering, I realized there were other calls coming from the trees and shrubs.

 Overnight a major flight of migrating songbirds had taken place. At that moment, multiple species were moving through our 500-square-foot backyard.

 Standing on our lawn of soft green clover in the cool shade of this sunny, 60-degree morning, I heard and saw the following warblers: American redstart, blackpoll, magnolia, Nashville and northern parula.

 A warbler is a small songbird that typically eats insects. Some warblers display bright colors. On this morning, the magnolia warbler exploded in yellow-black-blue brilliance, with meaty black stripes seemingly bursting through the glowing yellow of the bird’s breast.

 The redstart was nearly as remarkable. I see these flickering little creatures regularly through spring migration. But when the redstart passed through a shaft of sunlight in a quickly leafing-out maple, the orange on the bird’s breast, wings and tail reminded me of a flaming sunset.

 By this point, the cardinal, still yammering at me, was joined by his mate, and she was equally as vocal and frenetic. Oy vey, I thought, I’m a friend of the birds!

 The duo danced through the spirea shrub, shaking its snow-white-flower-covered branches. Suddenly the male shot out of the vegetation at my noggin before ducking back in, and then the female did the same.

 Time for me to retreat. I walked off the clover and onto the driveway. When I turned around to look back I saw a male American robin ­­­­dip from a conifer beyond the neighbor’s fence and land on the exact spot where I had just stood.

 How fitting, I thought. Truth be told, our greenery was for the birds.

 Scott Turner’s (scottturnerster@gmail.com) nature column appears here most Fridays.