rowan tree blossom

They’re here again,
a flittering, twittering cloud,
which zings and chittery-zitters
with a quick jab of wings
as they hover, scatter, then settle.
They crowd the feeder,
cling with spiky nails,
upside down, sideways on,
wriggling and twisting to see how many tiny heads
will fit the inside the slots.
Goldfinches, a shy crowd of glorious colour,
flashes of white and gold and red.
Timid, not trusting my careful generous hands.

I watch , enjoy their antics, knowing what will happen next.
I wait for a flock wail and upward burst,
a scatter to the damson branches.
They’ve done it again.
Slowly I ease the door, slink outside.
The cluster on the tree flick upwards,
zitter, but float down again.
Panicked burst settles, dithers, hovers.
They wait.
Cautiously I reach the feeder, extend a hand
to capture the frantic wings,
enclose them gently.
Nudge left, ease right, twist
and the little head pops free.
I open my hand,
the bird rests in its warmth
as heart beat’s frantic thrum ease.
I wait.
The cloud in the tree flit wings,
call and my rescued captive
wriggles its neck, darts upwards..
Off now, free,
they’ll be back tomorrow, to do it all again.