Now that winter has finally released its stubborn, talon-like grip on Beijing, and spring has truly arrived, love, as they say, is in the air.

And just perhaps I have played matchmaker for some of my winged friends on high.

Lovers, human and otherwise, are often brought together by chance meetings, and birds are no exception.

So, much to my delight, the fifth-floor balcony "cafe "for birds that I opened in October, before Jack Frost set foot in the capital, drew one particularly interesting bird that I had not yet seen in Beijing.

Among the numerous sparrows, which are a delightfully gregarious breed, and the constantly cooing spotted doves, loudly chattering azure-winged magpies and small groups of nuthatches, as well as the much larger, tuxedoed magpies and, just once, a raven the size of a small dog, I spied one morning a truly amusing and unexpected visitor — a red-crowned, sharp-eyed woodpecker.

This single woodpecker began showing up in the coldest clutch of winter, when fierce winds from the north rattled the windows and made it seem impossible that such poorly protected creatures could survive. I assumed, or hoped at least, that my provisions made a difference.

The woodpecker would, upon arrival, bob and weave like Mike Tyson, peeking around the corner of my air conditioner and fixing me with a riveting stare and a comical expression as he checked out the scene. When he settled in to dine, his oversized feet and tree-gripping claws would splay out before him.