They come in the morning
to work on the pampas grass,
their body weight bending the tall stems
almost to the ground before bobbing upwards again,
swinging back and forth like an upside-down bell
while they hold tight, dedicated to the art of foraging.
All day, they strip the downy seed heads
which they carry to their nests in clumps.
It’s late October, and the day is warm enough
that the honey in the pantry has turned runny,
yellowgold sunlighting through dusty windows
caked with summer’s pollen.
I am sitting at the small desk, writing this—
watching the finches as they prepare for a winter
that I’ll sleep through alone.
Photo by Vijayalakshmi Nidugondi