Photographers perceive the world a bit differently - quite often considering how what we're looking at could become a photograph. It's not unusual for us to notice things that non-photographers might not see at all. This trait is acquired and developed over time, and I believe it's something to be treasured. After all, the world is full of interesting things just waiting to be seen (and photographed) - if we're open to the possibilities!

If it hasn't happened already, at some point you'll discover that your "photographer's eye" is always working, even when making pictures is far from front-of-mind.

My final winter as a resident of New England was one for the record books. It began snowing heavily at the end of January and seemingly didn't let up for the next six weeks. Ice dams, leaking roofs - and even roof collapses - were serious issues throughout the region. Roof raking crews were so backed up they couldn't take new customers. Calcium chloride ice melt (a last line of defense for roofs) was impossible to find. Whenever the hardware store would receive a shipment, customers lined up before their doors opened, hoping to score a few bags before the supply ran out. Every day I'd check my house for damage - hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.

It's safe to say I wasn't thinking a lot about photography.

One Sunday afternoon as I looked outside, surveying the fresh, massive mountain of snow that needed to be removed from one of our decks, a squall came through: the intensity quickly picked up with conditions escalating to near-whiteout.

My first reaction was utter dismay (more snow?) - but I was almost immediately transfixed by the sheer spectacle. Though I'd seen my share of Nor'easters and blizzards, the woods behind my house had never looked quite like this.

Soon I noticed a flurry of activity at one corner of the deck; there were as many as ten lovely eastern bluebirds crowding around the feeder I kept there.

I love bluebirds. Though I regularly stocked my feeders and had many feathered visitors year-round, in all the time I lived in New Hampshire, bluebirds had only just discovered my yard that winter. And here they were - in spades - attempting to get something to eat in spite of the rough weather! Everything about what I was seeing was unusual. I ran into the studio to grab my camera.

Under normal conditions, I wouldn't have considered photographing birds at the feeder: not much more than a snapshot. This scene, though, was completely different. The heavy snow was visually stunning. It nearly obscured the trees in the background, removing distracting visual elements and creating a beautiful wash of neutral tones (no lens bokeh required!), all the better to emphasize colors of the birds.

One of them fluttered its wings as it tried to grab onto the feeder and take a bite of suet; I used a slow enough shutter speed to capture the movement. The other three sat still, puffed up against the cold - and even better, they were oriented properly for the composition. This was a lucky break. Shooting through a window, there was little room to maneuver.

I worked quickly. Who knew how long the storm would hold up, or how tenacious the birds would be about hanging around? The window of opportunity closed after only about ten minutes. All too soon it was time to get back to the issues at hand: clearing the deck and figuring out how to get the thick ice off my roof.

But thanks to that "photographer's eye" which is always on the job, I made an image that day which I wouldn't have anticipated.