goldfinch epitome of incomprehensibility Even armed with David Bird's Birds of Canada book, I confused this little one with a ruby_crowned_kinglet. Friends of the bird feeder, they'll hop onto the thin diagonal string that gives the cylinder more support. It supports them too. One at a time, anyway. They hook on to it, shimmy down a little, wait for a space to free up. 250403 ... Soma Mountain and valley cradle and bring me comfort as I walk mile upon silent mile amidst towering boughs. These verdant giants that throng over hill and stream are family too; here when my father's father's father walked upon the land. West Virginia has always been full of old spirits and here I roam as freely as if I was one – no more a child by the hearthside scolded for chores and being underfoot. Here in the hollow of these ancestorial hills, the trees crowd less. The road is dappled with shaded sunlight and white rocks but kempt clean of weeds. Cars come this way I'm told, though I never saw or heard the in all my years. Their passage shown true by indelible grooves left in the still-damp earth. My feet weary of the responsibility of travel as the sun begins her downward arc, but I'll be home soon. I hear the call and see the gold, fluttering in a brush. Caution stirs within me but the forest is not silent. The woodpecker hammers ring throughout the canopy. The flash of a cardinal is seen amidst the leaves. The mocking call of dun-grey feathered friends puts me at ease. I step forward and gently part the branch. A tiny bird all black and yellow, wing held apart in pain. A broken fragile little thing. Impulsive child still, I reach forward and pluck her from the brush. Careful, I hold her close against my breast, and feel her trembling heart, though exhausted, she does not resist. The forest gives, the forest takes, the forest is. Always we must take care of her I'm told time and time again. With step careful of my cargo, I descend out forest and cross the field. A bridge, a turn and I'm back cross the crick, with precious quest in hand to mend. I'll set her free once righted, and pay my child's price in goldfinches for safety amongst these hills. 250404 ... ovenbird That was really beautiful Soma. I love "child's price in goldfinches." Your writing reminded me of this poem by Danusha Lameris called "Goldfinches." This is the first stanza: Good luck, they say to see one, its face and breast pure citrus against the grey sky 250404 what's it to you? who go blather from