Garlic tops still point at the ground like dysfunctional minarets. Goldfinches weave through the canopy, circling the thistle-spined sun.
American goldfinch
June 10, 2009
May 15, 2009
May 9, 2009
January 7, 2009
October 26, 2008
Blue sky morning. A goldfinch flock moves down the ridge on its squeaky wheel. I’m not, I realize, an optimist; I’m in love with optimism.
June 30, 2008
I realize suddenly that my yard is devoid of bull thistles this year. Could the goldfinches really have consumed every one of the seeds?
June 16, 2008
The clear air makes for sharp contrasts between shadows and patches of sunlight, sewn together by three goldfinches on a high-speed chase.
January 28, 2008
White ground, gray sky, and the temperature just below freezing. The wind curls around the house like a dog’s tail. A flock of goldfinches.
November 14, 2007
White sky, white noise from the highway over the ridge. The goldfinches wake all at once, a querulous babble of squeaky wheels.