The trio of brown-haired, pot-bellied wagtails, who were hurrying about their chores, and who were judging themselves to be sullen recluse, were surveying the yard in search of "something to eat". And all this because the gnats and other bugs, because of the cold weather have hidden in the hiding places in the folds of buildings and bark, or tightly covered the entrances to the holes in the ground with the door leaves which were hastily cutted of roughly sawn leaves. So the oak trees, accustomed to resupply in flight, had absolutely no one to keep their cheeks open until their resting place.

 Reaching their secluded places and shelters, they had to content themselves with only a bob or two of unopened buds. But there were fewer and fewer of them, and they had to avoid hospitable relatives such as sparrows, bullfinches and canaries due to their reluctance. They were reproaching the bastards for their laziness for earthly work, which was justified by circumstances or concealed by circumstances. However, the family was willing to forgive the oakleys their unwillingness to weed the garden, but their refusal to sing in tertia insulted the cousins and was considered as arrogance and disregard of kinship ties. A reference to modest vocal prowess or a long-standing catarrh of the throat was not taken into account. Although, to be fair, a bastard would take up practising his scales just after Christmas, and might well have caught a cold from doing so.
 So, the formal and always hungry, like seminarians, the bastards stuck together and thought, as usual, for three, so that they could brag about something to each other, keep talking without being irritated and without listening to contradictions, and go home, freezing in place, without fear of being ridiculed or accused of lukewarm indifference, even to their needs. (The oakleaf's bedroom is always in plain sight, for, thanks to its motley dressing gown, it passes for one of its own wherever it sits.)  To be fair, if birds have someone to fear, so it is only themselves, because by singing, reminding gnashing of metal teeth, row against row, could unwittingly draw unwanted attention.
 Therefore, out of caution, and to confirm the view of themselves as philosophers, the oakleys had mostly kept silent, with a clever look. But... pretence comes to an end sometime!

 Not everyone has enough stamina - to wait longer than one would think to get one's reward. Sitting in a corner, listening to footsteps or the careless flapping of a fan of wings from outside, oak trees need not burden themselves with fuss and unnecessary impulses. But as soon as the cherry trees in the orchard smile, blinking sunnily, knocking aside the glorious crown of ripeness, that's when the time of the wise birds comes. They'll come around in minutes!

 The skill of waiting for one's hour. Not an easy skill. Not for everyone, but for everyone.