For one brief moment this morning, one of our deck feeders was simultaneously visited by a bright male goldfinch and a magenta-highlighted purple finch against a background of bright, white snowflakes. This being real life, by the time I had my camera in hand, both males were gone, leaving the more drab females in brown and white or olive, black and white, plus gray and white juncos. The visual impact just wasn't the same, although the seasonal snow-showers did prompt me to compose a couple of haiku:
red squirrel scampersI also managed to get some pictures of the above-mentioned birds at the feeder, with the mating-colored male replaced by one in partial molt. The seasonal "breeze" was better for kite-flying than picture taking. Today, by the way, is the first time this season (whichever season it is) I've seen a goldfinch as brightly colored as this morning's earlier visitor. The juncos and some of the purple finches will probably keep heading north, while the goldfinches and some of the purple finches will continue to trade entertainment for food through the nesting and rearing seasons. I'm starting to wonder how long it will be and if we'll see scarlet tanagers, rose-breasted grosbeaks and other semi-exotic visitors this year.
over snow-covered green grass
pre-scamper red squirrel
Dutchman's Breeches blooms
blanketed by falling flakes
wind-blown male goldfinch
partially molted male goldfinch and pair of purple finches
A kind of counter-blossoming, diversionary,
doomed, and likethe needle with its drop
of blood a littletoo transparently in
love with doom, takesissue with the season: Not
(the serviceberry brightwith explanation) not
(the redbud unspoolingits silks) I know I've read
the book but not (the lilac,the larch) quite yet, I still
have one more card toplay. Behold
a six-hour wonder: sixnew inches bedecking the
railing, the bench, the topof the circular table like
a risen cake. The saplingsmade (who little thought
what beauty weighs) to bowbefore their elders.
The moment bears morethan the usual signs of its own
demise, but isn't thatthe bravery? Built
on nothing but the self-same knots of air
and ice. Alreadythe lip of it riddled
with flaws, a sortof vascular lesion that
betokens—what? betokensthe gathering return
to elementals. (Shewas frightened
for a minute, who hadplanned to be so calm.)
A dripline scoringthe edge of the walk.
The cotton batting blownagainst the screen begun
to pill and molt. (Whoclothed them out of
mercy in the skinsof beasts.) And even
as the last of thelightness continues
to fall, the seepageunderneath has gained
momentum. (So thatthere must have been a
death beforethe death we call the
first or what becameof them, the ones
whose skins were taken.)Now the more-
of-casting-backward-than-of-forward part, which must
have happened while I wasn'tlooking or was looking
at the skinning knives. I thinkI'll call this mercy too.
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.