Between Seasons

On a day so light
the glint of a goldfinch
almost (but not quite) blends
with the sun,

flashes of spun gold
spark  as the wee bird darts
to and fro on his mission
of mercy,

or industry,
without ever stopping
to smell the roses, a creature

between seasons,
transient as the leaves
just beginning to turn,
giving up their green

for yellow
and gold, and red-orange.
Debutantes all with no thought
of tomorrow,

they enter the gala
singing  the songs of summer
as they drift
into fall.

2 thoughts on “Between Seasons

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