Prelude
The finches arrive
looking like canaries.
The males bright yellow
with a touch of black
and females an unassuming
shade of brown.
They come for the seeds
left from sunflowers and coneflowers.
Their cry is continual like
a dog’s endless squeaky toy.
Their arrival announces
the final days of summer.
The garden becomes dry and barren
exuding the result of lack of rain.
It is the change of seasons
coming when it should.
The prelude
to the dark cold days of winter.
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