Yesterday when I came home, my dog Spot had, once again, opened the door to let himself out into the back yard. In my house a bird had taken refuge. We had a long conversation. That bird prompted this poem written especially for Cory who writes excellent nature poetry herself.
The Gold Finch
When I think of that finch
flying forth from deep dreams
toward the sun lit fields
o’er waves of wild mustard
covering hills in gold–
the bird’s toes grasp a twig
bouncing in the cold breeze,
to eat seed to it’s fill.
Those mustard seeds a promise–
deep in my mind, far back,
spring will arrive again,
with faith.
My dear Joy:
I have 50 resident goldfinch living on my deck in NY and wonder at their zig-zag flight and the change of color with the seasons. Your mention of the mustard smell and color piques the senses already stirred.
I have no printer here so will hope you permit my posting this on my blog so it lives on more than David’s ground.
You amaze me, my gentle broadcaster.
Jeanne
The Vibrant Channeled Creator 